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BAUfTMOaE: 













THE 

DOUBLE SACRIFICE^ 

OR, 

THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


A TALE OF 

CASTELFIDARDO. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FLEMISH OP THE 

/ 

REV. S. DAEMS, 

V 

CANON REGULAR OF THE ORDER OF PREMONSTRATENSI ANS. 
(abbey of TONGERLOO, BELGIUM.) 




BALTIMORE : 

KELLY, PIET AND COMPANY, 

174 Baltimore Street. 

1870. 





PRINTEU BY 

KELLY, PIET AND COMPANY, 

BABTIMOBE. 




THE 

Double Sacrifice; 

OR, 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 


Chap, Page. 

1. — The Buother and Sister 1 

11. — The Vow 10 

III. — Pro Petri Sede 18 

IV. — The Son op the Eich Man and the Son of the 

Beggar Woman 29 

V. — The Departure 42 

VI.— Eome.. 56 

VII. — The Carbonaro.. 66 

VIII. — The Spirit of Good and the Spirit of Evil.... 82 

IX. — The Camp 98 

X.— Treachery 110 

[ XL — Before the Storm.... 115 

XII. — The Gulf of Perdition ...130 

XIII. — Castelfidardo 147 

XIV. — The Carbonaro’s Kevenge and the Christianas 

Eevenge 157 

XV. — The Hermitage 173 

XVI. — Prisoners and Fugitives 188 

XVII. — The End of the Freethinker 195 

XVIII. — For Two Fathers 211 

XIX.— Conclusion 235 

(vii.) 


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A 



PEEFACE TO THE ENGLISH TEANSLATION. 

HE tale, from which the following pages have been trans- 
lated, was originally published between the months 
of December, 18GG, and September, 1867, in a 
periodical called^ Het Kempenlandf (“The Campine/’) 
It was begun under the pressure of the anxiety with which the 
impending withdrawal of the French troops from Kome filled every 
faithful heart, and before the result of that glorious impulse was 
seen, by which the old chivalrous and religious spirit of France 
arose and forced her perplexed and wavering rulers to brave the 
dagger of the carbonaro and lead her to her old traditional place 
in the vanguard of Christendom. 

It was ended before the victory of Mentana had avenged the no 
less glorious defeat of Castelfidardo. 

The writer's aim was, he tells us in a few prefatory words 
“ while others are offering blood and life for the cause of God and 
His Yicar, at least to take up the pen in honor of the heroes of 
Christendom^ and in defence of their and our beloved, and, alas I 
persecuted Father.” 

The translator's is a yet humbler task, but it has been undertaken 
with the same intention, and in the hope that the growing interest 
felt in England in a cause which has such assailants and such 
defenders as are here drawn from the life^ will gain it a hearing, 
through this simple medium, from many who are not Catholics, 

To every Catholic heart the name of Castelfidardo will be a pass- 
port. Wc have now, thank God, English names in the martyrology 
of this new crusade. We have been told by some organ of the 

(V.) 



vi. I>REFACE TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION. 

revolution that, Pio Mono hathed his banners at Monte Kotondo and 
Montana in the blood of Italian boys. 

They were bathed, in good truth, in the free, pure blood of our 
English boys, who gave the flower of their bright and beautiful 
lives for the defence of the Vicar of Christ — true and worthy sus- 
cessors of the 65 martyrum on whom S. Philip’s eye rested in 
wistful tenderness, when they came to Kome to be trained for the 
gibbet and the axe, and to make their blood the seed of a harvest 
which is now beginning to whiten the fields of our long barren and 
desolate land. | 

Here and there, one by one, they are gathering still around the | 
standard of the Cross. From Highland glens, where the old Faith | 
still lingers amid the grey rocks and the wild heather of the ever. i 
lasting hills — from stately English halls, where the lamp of the J 
sanctuary has burnt, unquenched by the hand of persecution and j 
undimmed by the breath of heresy, through the three long centuries 
of a nation’s apostacy — and more blessed, and more hopeful still, from 
homes hallowed by suffering and privation, once prosperous homes? 
whose inmates have given up all things for Christ — they are gath- 
ering around him, who, amid all the changes of these changeful 
times, has known, and will know, no change, and whose attitude 
and bearing has wrung a perplexed and reluctant homage from his 
enemies themselves. 

By all the rules of the wisdom of the nineteenth century, the 
Pontiff King ought to have disappeared long ago, amid other gro- 
tesque creations of the dark ages, and yet, the Old Man is still 
saying Mass on the tomb of the Apostles” — his the only voice that 
falters not^ the only eye that is not clouded, the only heart that 
trembles not at the things that are coming u^on the earth. They 
know not why ; but we know that he is the representative of Him, 
who is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. 



THE 

Double Sacrifice; 

OR, 

THE PONTIFICAE ZOUAVES. 

A TALE OF 

Castelfidardo. 


CHAPTER I. 



THE BROTHER AND SISTER. 

CHRAMBEEK, dear reader, is a name which 
doubtless you have never heard before. It is the 
name which we shall give to one of the loveliest 
villages of the Campine,* whither we must go 
to seek the heroes of our tale. 

A lovely village indeed. Picture to yourself on its east- 
ern side a group of sand-hills rearing their naked tops above 
the evergreen pine woods which surround them. On this 
side all is bare and waste, only here and there a bunch of 
heather raises its scanty flowers as if it could scarce find 
nourishment in the barren soil. Even here the industry of 
the husbandman has of late ameliorated the nature of the 


* A sandy tract stretching to the south-east of the City of Antwerp, tlirougli 
a part of the provinces of Antwerp and Brabant.— Tmns?a/or's Note. 

( 1 ) 




2 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


soil ; in different places the hills have been levelled, the heath 
ploughed up, and the pine trees cut down. The period may 
be anticipated when the last vestiges of the forest will disap- 
pear before the hand of cultivation. 

A few years ago, as the traveler approached Schrambeek 
on this side, the stillness of those dark pines filled his mind 
with solemn thoughts: the quiet solitude of the place, the 
silence of which was broken only by the monotonous chirp 
of the cricket, and the sighing of the wind amid the green 
boughs, sounding like the voice of a spirit, wrought power- 
fully on the mind of the wayfarer and plunged him into deep 
contemplation. 

But when he at last emerged from the outskirts of the 
forest, a lovely landscape broke suddenly upon his sight ;• 
the village lay smiling at his feet, with its neat and happy- 
looking dwellings ranged in a wide circle round the village 
green. A moment before he was unconscious of the exist- 
ence of the paradise nestled close beneath the dark pine wood. 
The church-tower scarcely rises above the roofs of the houses, 
as if it feared lest its golden weather-cock should betray the 
neighborhood of the happy village to the traveler, and thus 
lessen the effect of its sudden revelation. As you leave 
Schrambeek on the other side, a far different landscape lies 
before you ; meadows and corn-fields seem to vie with each 
other which shall gleam most brightly in the sunshine. To 
the northwest the scenery is especially beautiful : the ground 
rises slowly and gradually, overlooking a valley of clover and 
hay-fields^ and terminating in a wide plain, smooth as a grass- 
plot, adorned in the summer with a thousand lovely wild 
flowers, and forming a terrace from which the eye wanders 
over the whole extent of the country round. In the hollow 
before you lies Schrambeek, at the foot of the pine wood, the 
red roofs of its houses standing out in strong relief from the 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


3 


background of evergreens : and at a little distance from the 
village, mid its oaks and lime trees, rise the old grey towers 
and broken moss-grown battlements of an ancient feudal 
eastle. 

r That castle many long years ago had its history, which the 
j villagers of Schrambeek can tell you ; for it was formerly the 
stronghold of a noble race, whose name was once famous in 
Flemish annals ; it had its warriors, who in olden times had 
won for themselves a great renown in war. And so the 
shepherd, who is watching his sheep yonder beneath its wall, 

; will tell you ; for example, how — But whither am I wander- 
jy ing ? for I am not going to relate the history of the castle, 
and the impatient reader has perhaps already asked himself 
what all this has to do with my story. Well, then, to begin. 

But no, I have forgotten something else ; there, in the 
middle of the green plain, stands a chapel dedicated to the 
Immaculate Mother Maiden. Look through the iron grating 
in the middle of the door. Is it not simple and beautiful? 
Kneel for a moment on the half-worn wooden bench^ and 
raise your eyes to the white stone in the gable, which bears 
this inscription : 

Our Bear Ladv 
OF Comfort. 

1615. 

Hither it is that the sorrow-laden of Schrambeek come to 
lay down their burthen. Hither do they come to ask the 
Mother of Sorrows for help and comfort, and if you come 
hither early in the morning and late in the evening, you will 
not fail to find a woman and not seldom a man, kneeling in 
earnest prayer upon the bench ; for the people of Schrambeek 
have not yet learned to be ashamed of God’s service and God’s 
fear ; they hold fast still to the Faith of their forefathers. 

And now, dear reader, we will begin our story. 


4 THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 

It was a beautiful evening in the month of May, of the 
year 1860. The last rays of the sun were already fading 
behind the western hills of Schrambeek. On the footpath 
which leads from the village to Our Lady’s Chapel, two per- 
sons, a maiden and a youth, were walking silently and sor- 
rowfully. They seemed to be in deep grief ; their outward 
bearing betrayed keen suffering ; ever and anon a heavy sigh 
seemed to burst involuntarily from the young man’s heart, 
and if you could have looked under the hood which the young 
girl had drawn over her face, you would have seen the big 
tears trickling down her cheeks. 

Those tears burst forth at last in a sudden flood, and forced 
the young man to break silence. 

“ Oh, Mary,’^ said he gently, “ why do you weep so des- 
pairingly? Your sorrow pierces my heart, and after all the 
case is not hopeless.” 

“ No, brother,” was the sad reply^, “ let me weep ; for all 
hope is gone; our mother will die.” 

“Speak not so, sister,” he answered; “we must never 
give up hope. I know not why. but there is something in 
my heart, which bids me be of good comfort.” 

“ Of good comfort, Joseph? Ho]3e, brother? How can 
that possibly be ? Are not the jaws of death already opened 
for our mother ? Her thin hands, her colorless cheeks, the 
burning fever — do not all these speak plainly enough ? Ah ! 
the doctor might well say that it will be a wonder if she lives 
three days longer !” 

And the words seemed to choke the poor girl, and her an- 
guish again found vent in a flood of tears. 

Oh ! tears, precious gift of the Creator ! Most unhappy 
is the sufferer, whose grief finds no relief in tears ! 

The young man wept also, yet strove hard to master his 
emotion lest it should aggravate his sister’s sorrow. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 5 

It is true/^ continued he after a short pause, ‘ * our mother 
is very ill. Think not that I do not share your sorrow, yet I 
cannot but still hope. Then the Holy Unction of the Church 
which our mother received yesterday ; above all, the Al- 
mighty and All Grood, who has been pleased to visit her on 
her sick bed to-day — do you think that all this can do nothing 
for her ?” 

“ Assuredly, Joseph ; yet you are not presumptuous enough 
to expect a miracle ? And, according to what the doctor 
said, her recovery would be a miracle.” 

“ Sister, we are close to her chapel who is called the Health 
of the Sichj and the Comforter of the Sorrowful ; let us ad- 
dress one fervent prayer to her, and were it even to cost a 
miracle, it would not be the first which has been granted to 
filial love. Or say that we need no miracle, yet let us offer 
one fervent prayer of faith and trust, for, I say again, it is 
my inmost belief that we shall be heard. Is it not God who 
brings down to the brink of the grave and raises up again, 
according to his good pleasure ?” 

The pious children had reached the chapel of the Immacu- 
late Virgin, and knelt together on the bench before the 
door, praying in silence. They prayed for their sick mother, 
and they prayed to the best of mothers, to the Mother of 
God and of men. How should such a prayer fail to be 
heard ? The prayer of loving children for their parents is 
always heard ; but sometimes the Lord gives more than they 
ask ; they are sometimes more than answered by Him who is 
the Father of the Orphan. 

Pious children ! The youth had numbered only nineteen, 
the girl scarce sixteen years. They were already half or- 
phans, for they had lost an excellent father while yet too 
young to understand their loss. Yet God, who never fails to 
apply balm upon the wounds which he inflicts, had left them 
1 * 


6 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; ORj 


a pious mother, under the shelter of whose watchful love they 
had grown up in His fear and service, and had scarcely felt 
the loss of their father. 

And now this mother, their only stay on earth, to whom 
they had ever been a crown of joy, lay sick to death upon 
her bed, and it seemed as if Grod were about to take from 
them their only support, and to leave them alone in their 
weakness on the wide, wide world. 

Fervently had their praises risen daily before the chapel of 
the Sweet Mother of Heaven, and with redoubled confidence 
and love had they daily invoked her since the beginning of 
her own sweet month. Evening was now drawing on, but 
their filial love kept them still kneeling there to offer a last 
petition for the recovery of their mother. 

Long, very long did they pray, inwardly and silently. 
The brother especially seemed as if unconscious of all around 
him ; his eyes were fixed upon the white stone on the gable, 
his lips had ceased to move, and a gentle smile seemed to 
play upon them. 

Meanwhile evening had closed in, and night began to spread 
its shadows over the country. The clear sound of the Ange- 
lus bell from the low church tower was heard, calling the 
laborers in the field to bow their knees in their evening fare- 
well greeting to their Mother, before they leave their labor 
to go to rest and gather new strength for their morning’s 
work. 

For work is a blessing of God as well as a punishment on 
sin. But all work is not blest by God. 

While the laborers of the soil, jis were most of the inhabi- 
tants of Schrambeek, toil to free the land from weeds and to 
prepare it to bring forth good fruit, other laborers are at work 
in the world — the laborers of hell — on another ground — the 
heart of man — busy in rooting out the good seed and planting 


PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


7 


the cockle. And the great Master-Laborer in Heaven — He 
who alone labors and is not wearied — He seems to rest and to 
suffer the work of hell to prosper. 

He accomplishes His work by a fiat. 

By a jiat He has let the laborers of hell finish theirs. 

By another fiat, in His own good time, He will destroy 
their work and restore His own. 

Therefore He seems to rest 

The sound of the Angelus bell had apparently interrupte 1 
Mary’s prayer, for no sooner had the last stroke sounded in 
the evening air, than she thus roused her brother from his 
reverie : 

“ Joseph, it is time; let us go back to our mother.” 

He started as from a dream, and stood up without speak- 
ing ; his countenance was now calm and peaceful. 

His sister looked at him in amazement. 

“ Brother,” she said, “ how mighty is the power of prayer 
over the human heart ! I feel mine already far lighter, and 
you look to me more full of hope than when we came 
hither.” 

“It is true, Mary, but for whom do you think I have been 
praying ?” 

‘ ‘ For whom have you been praying ? For our sick 
mother, of course.” 

“ You say truly, but I have not been praying for her alone 
to the Blessed Virgin and her dear Son. Oh, my dearest 
Mary, I think sometimes that we are too selfish in our sorrow for 
our mother’s sickness ; for, Mary, we have another Mother — our 
Mother full of grace, the Holy Church, over whom we have 
good cause to sorrow. Ah, I know well this Mother can 
never die, yet she can endure unspeakable sufferings ; and to 
what dangers is she now exposed in the person of her op- 
pressed Chief Pastor ?” 


8 


'The double sacrifice; or, 


“ Most true, Joseph, but what can we, poor weak creatures, 
do for her, but sorrow and pray for her ? Besides, does not 
the Lord watch over His Bride, and will He not save her, 
even at the cost of some mighty miracle V’ 

“Doubtless God’s eye is open to the sufferings of His 
Church. When once His hour of vengeance comes, He will 
give her victory at all costs over her enemies; but it is also 
Ilis will that His creatures should co-operate with Him, and 
He vouchsafes no miracle without necessity.” 

“ Quite true,' Joseph, yet why suffer yourself to be so over- 
powered with sorrow, when we can do nothing to help her 
but by our prayers ?” 

“ Nothing but by our prayers! Oh, sister! what, then, 
are those brave men doing who are hastening to Borne from 
our father-land, from France, Ireland, and many a land be- 
sides, full of heroic ardor, to defend the common Father of 
the Faithful? They do not think that prayer is their only 
weapon. They have cast blood and life into the balance for 
the Pope, and will die joyfully to save him ; for if their little 
company should be crushed by the overpowering number of the 
enemy, they know well that the earth shall not be fruitlessly 
watered by their blood. The voice of that blood, shed for 
the holiest cause, shall be their prayer, greater in its vic- 
torious power than any triumph of arms.” 

‘ ‘ J oseph, these are beautiful words, but they make my heart 
ache ; for you speak as if it were in your jnind to enter the 
Pope’s service. You will not leave our sick mother? You 
will not leave your sister to weep alone over her grave ?” 

‘ ‘ I say not that, Mary, but yet I confess I envy the fate 
of those brave hearts who shrink not from the martyr’s death ; 

I feel my heart burn to follow their noble example. No, 
Providence, I believe^ has appointed me m;y place by our 
mother’s sickbed ; yet were I not withheld by the sweet duty 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


9 


of filial love, I say not but I would fly to the defence of my 
other Mother. When I was at college, I used to read that it 
is sweet to die for our country ; a thousand times sweeter must 
it be to die for the Church of Grod.’’ 

Mary made no answer ; she seemed to be lost in thought : 
J oseph also walked silently for the rest of the way by his sis- 
ter’s side. 

They now drew near to the first houses of Schrambeek. 

Teresa, the old crippled beggar-woman, as she passed them, 
though unwilling to disturb their grief, could not resist the 
opportunity, when she received an alms from Joseph’s hand, 
to wish them a hearty good evening. 

They stood still. 

‘ ‘ How is your mother ?” 

“Ill, very ill, Teresa. Do not forget her in your 
prayers.” 

“ Can you doubt, Joseph, that I shall remember her ! Oh ! 

I have not forgotten whom I have to thank that I did not 
perish from cold and hunger last winter. No, no ; the old 
cripple is not ungrateful. God reward you, children, and 
your good mother.” 

And the old woman hobbled along with her crutch to the 
Troosthapel (the Chapel of Comfort,) as the good people of 
Schrambeek call it, to add the prayer of gratitude to the 
prayer of filial love. 

It had been a very hot day. The evening was lovely, and 
many of the inhabitants of Schrambeek were gathered to- 
gether in the street to breathe the fresh air, and at the same 
time to listen to the news^ which were retailed to them by the . 
old Piquet. He went daily to the Eagle to read the news- 
paper, and was in great request among the peasants, who 
questioned him about all the events which had taken place in 
the wide world. 


10 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


When the brother and sister approached the group of vil- 
lagers they received kindly greetings from all. Every one 
was anxious to inquire for the invalid. But Joseph and Mary, 
after answering their inquiries in a few words, hastened on- 
wards, for their hearts yearned after their mother. 

On the threshold of their home, Bika, the maid, stood 
weeping bitterly. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE vow. 

VROUW VAN DAEL, the mother of Joseph 
and Mary, was the widow of a good and hon- 
orable man who had long filled the office of 
notary at Schrambeek. At the moment of which 
we are writing he had been dead about ten years, having left 
his widow no great wealth besides the love and respect of her 
neighbors, with sufficient worldly means to enable her to pass 
her days in peace and independence. 

The widow Van Dael lived in retirement, receiving the 
visits of only a few intimate friends, and employed herself in 
her quiet home in the loving and careful training of her two 
children. Her labors had been greatly blessed, for her chil- 
dren were the very joy of her heart, and were accounted by 
all Schrambeek to be the models for young people. Thus had 
many years passed by in sweet and domestic peace, and the 
only cloud which sometimes cast a dark shadow over her sunny 
path was the sorrowful remembrance of the husband who had 
been too early taken from her. Yet even here the piety, 
which was the life of the good widow’s soul, brought her 
speedy comfort and relief, and a glance at the grave where 




THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


11 


rested the mortal remains of her lamented husband was ever 
followed by an upward look to Heaven, whence his spirit, she 
doubted not, watched over herself and her children. 

Only a few weeks ago sorrow had fallen once more upon 
this pious household. Mevrouw Yan Dael had fallen sud- 
denly ill ; her illness had become much more serious in the 
last few days, and the poor sufferer seemed to have no strength 
to struggle longer with the disease which was undermining 
her life. 

The physician, a friend of the family, and a worthy and 
upright man, had, it is true, held out a hope of her recovery ; 
yet he had not the courage to make known to the widow’s sor- 
rowing children that he was even now momentarily expecting 
a last crisis, which, with the slightest possible hope of re- 
covery, threatened the most imminent danger of death. 

When he heard that the brother and sister, unconscious of 
her pressing danger, had gone to pay their accustomed visit 
to the Troosikapel, his heart reproached him with his want of 
courage to make known the whole truth, and he hastened to 
the sick bed to take their place until their return. 

The good pastor of the village, who was always to be found 
where the duty of his office called him, remained also to com- 
fort and support the sick woman. Rika, the old servant, 
seeing her mistress in such good hands, had gone to the door 
to give free vent to her tears, and to watch for the young 
people’s return. 

No sooner did they notice her tears, than their own, which 
had been dried by prayer, began to stream again. 

“ Rika!” they cried both together, as they drew near the 
door, ‘ ^ is mother worse ?” 

0, my God 1” she sobbed, “ I fear she cannot be much 
worse than she is. Oh ! my good mistress, my poor children, 
what will become of us ? Oh ! would that I might die in- 
stead of you !” 


12 


THE DOUBLE SACllIFICE ; OK, 


With the speed of lightning Joseph flew into his mother’s 
room, and knelt by her bedside. 

“Mother! mother!” cried he, grasping her emaciated 
hand, “ you are not going to die ?” 

“ My child ! my dearest child !” replied she with a feeble 
voice, “ who told you that I am going to die ? And if it 
must be so, Joseph, the holy will of God be done !” 

Mary had seized her mother’s other hand, and the children 
covered both hands with kisses and tears. 

The pastor wept from sympathy. Even the doctor brushed 
away with the back of his hand the tears which started un- 
bidden to his eye. 

“ Joseph ! Mary !” said he, “ be calm ; all is not lost, I 
assure you. Be calm; crying does no good, and the sight of 
your grief will but increase your mother’s sickness.” 

He said these last words in a whisper, lest they should be 
overheard by the invalid. 

Joseph dropped his mother’s hand, and beckoned to the 
physician to follow him to the other side of the room. 

“ Doctor,” he whispered, “ do not deceive me. Only tell 
me the truth, it cannot be worse than I expect, therefore 
speak openly.” 

“ There is still hope, Joseph,” was the answer spoken still 
lower than the question. ‘ ‘ There is still hope, but it is slight. 
I expect a fearful and decisive crisis to-night. If your mother 
lives till morning, I will answer for her recovery.’^ 

This answer, slight as was the encouragement which it 
conveyed, seemed to give confidence to the young man, for it 
enkindled a spark of hope within him. He looked calmly 
upward as if to challenge Heaven. 

“ Now, Lord,” he murmured, “ life for life.” 

“ His reverence and I have determined,” continued the 
doctor, “ not to leave you until your mother,” he hesitated, 
“ shall be out of danger,” 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


13 


^‘Thanks, doctor, thanks,’’ said the youth, ^‘for your 
friendship and kindness.” 

Then they left the corner in which this whispered conver- 
sation had been carried on 

All was silent in the holise. A shaded lamp shed a half- 
light through the room. 

Joseph and Mary knelt weeping and praying by their 
mother’s bed. The venerable priest said his office by the faint 
light of the lamp. Eika sobbed as she slowly told the beads 
of her rosary. The doctor had opened a newspaper and 
seemed to read ; yet he paid little enough attention to the 
news, for ever and anon he raised his head gently to look at 
the sick woman, lest the slightest change in her appearance 
might escape him. 

The night was already far spent, and the stillness was 
broken only by the painful breathing of the patient, some- 
times interrupted by a weak and painful cough. 

At last the closed eyes must have opened, for the doctor 
quietly left his chair and approached the bed. He was hold- 
ing the invalid’s hand clasped in his own, and feeling her 
pulse with visible anxiety. 

‘ ‘ Mother ! mother 1” cried the brother and sister as with 
one mouth, “your blessing, mother 1” 

At an authoritative look from the doctor, the words died 
upon their lips. 

But Mevrouw Yan Hael had heard that cry of filial love, 
and weak as she was she raised her right hand over the bowed 
heads of her children, and said, in a scarcely audible voice : 

“ Grod bless you, dear children ! ’ Joseph, Mary — farewell 
till we meet in a better land.” 

Her hand fell like a leaden weight, and the doctor grasped 
it again. 

The priest turned his anxious eyes from the doctor to the 

2 


14 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


sick woman, and from the sick woman to the doctor again, as 
if to ascertain the extent of the danger. 

Some minutes passed of anxious suspense. 

The two children were past feeling or speech, llika wept 
audibly. 

The venerable pastor had already raised his arm for the 
last priestly blessing. 

Suddenly the doctor let fall the hand which he had hitherto 
grasped. The movement recalled the two children to con- 
sciousness. 

“ Dead ?” they cried, both together. 

“ Safe !” was the joyful answer of the physician. 

Safe ! The crisis was happily over, Mevrouw Van Dael 
was out of danger, and soon afterwards sank into a sweet and 
healthy sleep. 

And the parish priest began the “ Te Deum^^ of his 
3Iatins. 

And a prayer of thanksgiving in harmony with that ‘ ‘ Te 
Deum ” arose from the hearts of the rest to Heaven. 

It was a beautiful day — the day after that sorrowful night. 

The sunbeams of spring glittered in the clear heavens ; the 
blithe birds hopped and chirped in the green boughs, the 
flowers opened their cups to the warm light of the opening 
day. All nature seemed to Joseph and Mary a thousand 
times lovelier than it had ever been before. 

They had taken no rest. They could take none till they 
had been to thank their Heavenly Mother at the Troostkapel. 

They found a good herald there to spread the joyful news, 
for Teresa, the poor mendicant, was already at the chapel 
praying for her benefactors, and, above all, for Mevrouw Van 
Dael. 

We will not attempt to describe the joy with which the 
widow’s unexpected recovery filled all her friends. Rika, 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


15 


above all, was nearly out of her senses. We say nothing of 
Joseph and Mary, for who could describe the feelings of such 
children at the restoration of such a mother. 

Mevrouw Yan Dael was not more than two or three and 
forty. Before her illness she had been full of strength and 
health. In a few days, therefore, she had made rapid strides 
towards perfect recover3^ 

It is due to her doctor to state that he took little credit to 
himself for her restoration, for he declared that it was no 
skill of his which had recalled her from the brink of the grave, 
and that it was quite contrary to his expectation that the 
danger had been wrestled through. 

So passed a few weeks, and Mevrouw Yan Dael might be 
said to be really well ; a slight paleness, which was daily 
giving way to the line of ordinary health, and a weakness 
which was every day diminishing, were the only traces now 
remaining of her illness. 

The parish priest still came now and then to visit her, ac- 
cording to his custom with regard to all the sick of his flock. 

When he came one evening to the widow’s house, and the 
two children quitted the room to leave the venerable priest 
alone with their mother, Joseph whispered in his ear as he 
passed him, “ I pray you, reverend father, delay no longer; 
the case is urgent.” 

The priest, as soon as the door was shut, took the chair 
which Mary had placed for him, set it against the wall, and 
took another nearer to Mevrouw Yan Dael. 

He had summoned courage for the task before him, and he 
prefaced it with a few calm words of ordinary kindness. 

“ How are you, Mevrouw ?” 

“ Thank God! reverend father,” was the answer, I have 
now recovered my strength.” 

“ Poor mother !” cried the priest, as if speaking to himself. 


16 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


“ Poor mother, you little know how dear your recovery is to 
cost you 

“ What do you say. Mynheer Pastoor ? Explain yourself, 
I beseech you ; some terrible sorrow seems to lurk beneath 
your words.” 

‘‘ Mother,” said the priest solemnly, “ do you know' whom 
you have to thank for your recovery ?” 

“Assuredly, the goodness of Almighty God.” 

“Doubtless, Mevrouw^ ; yet the mercy vouchsafed to 3'ou 
by Heaven is the fruit of your children’s prayers; your re- 
covery is the triumph of filial love.” 

“ Oh, I am sure of that, and I thank God who has given 
me such children.” 

“ Poor mother I say nevertheless, for assuredly I am about 
to pierce your heart. You do not yet understand me. Yes, 
your children love you dearly, but do you know yourself how' 
dearly? Listen, Mevrouw. I trust that God will give you 
strength to bear wdiat I am about to unfold to you : your son, 
your Joseph, has offered himself to the Lord for his mother’s 
recovery. On the evening when you were in the greatest 
danger he made a vow before the Troosthapel to take service 
among the Papal Volunteers, if the Lord would be pleased to 
restore you to health. He had at first taken counsel with 
me, and I had allowed him to make the vow only on the strict 
condition that it should receive your approval.” 

The unexpected disclosure had a wonderful effect on the 
good widow. A deathlike paleness had overspread her coun- 
tenance, which again turned a fiery red; her whole being 
w'as visibly convulsed by interior emotion. 

‘ ‘ Your son,” continued the priest, “ too loving and tender- 
hearted to make known to you his resolution himself, has 
begged me to do it for him. I have delayed from day to day, 
fearing that you might still be too weak to bear the blow. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


17 


At last, at his repeated entreaties, I have thought it well to 
delay no longer to make the matter known to you. It 
is now for you, Mevrouw, to decide? Shall Joseph go, or 
shall he stay ?’^ 

“ Where is he ? where is he ? my good child !’’ cried Mev- 
rouw Van Dael. Ah ! I knew well that he loved me — hut 
so dearly ! so dearly ! Who could ever have believed it ?’’ 

“ Here am I, dearest mother/’ was the answer, and Joseph 
fell on his knees before her. “I shall go, shall I not, 
mother ?” 

“ Oh^ my child, what love! Oh, Joseph, you break my 
heart with joy and sorrow !” 

“ Mother, you will not keep me back? Heaven wills it, 
as we see. God has fulfilled the first part of my vow ; shall 
the second remain unfulfilled?” 

A fearful confiict must have taken place in that widowed 
mother’s heart ; yet it was plain that Christian heroism was 
to gain the victory over natural affection. She looked now 
upon her son, now upwards to Heaven ; her eyes gleamed as 
if with inspiration. The mother is about to unite her offer- 
ing to that of her child. 

“I keep you back, my son?” said she. “ Oh, no, I will 
not be less generous than my child. As you offered yourself 
for your mother, so will I offer my mother’s love upon the 
altar of the Lord, and for the service of His Bride who is the 
Mother of us all. Go_, my child, go, strong in your mother’s 
love ; go with the blessing of God who inspired your noble 
purpose. Your absence will be sad and dreary to us, yet 
God will give strength to your sister and to me to bear it 
bravely, nay gladly. Go, and if you shall have the happi- 
ness to see the Holy Father, tell him that I would gladly send 
him millions, yet that having no gold to offer him, I send 
him my son, praying God that he would be pleased to restore 


18 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


him to me again. Yet, Joseph, if it shall please him to ac- 
cept the offering of your life, go joyfully to death, for know 
that I myself confirm your offering, and that I should account 
myself happy to see you die in the defence of His holy cause. 
Say all this to the Holy Father, and ask him, as my reward, 
for his blessing and his prayers. . . . And now, my precious 
child, depart ; your mother, whom you have restored to life, 
confirms your vow.’’ 

Papal Volunteer kissed his mother’s hand in 
covered it with tears of gratitude and love. 


CHAPTEE III. 

PRO PETRI SEDE. 

have not yet met with the principal hero of our 
story. We are now about to make his acquaint- 
ance. 

We find ourselves in a large room of a stately 
house in a city of the province of Antwerp. 

The appearance of this room is somewhat singular. 

Not a hand-breadth of the surface of the walls is to be 
seen, for they are completely covered with wooden shelves 
filled with books of all sorts and sizes, great and small, 
bound and unbound, old and new 

Let us spend a few moments in examining them ; for when 
I see a library, I can soon find out the mind of its owner, 
nnJ become acquainted with the man who has collected the 
books. Lihe folloics like. 

But what books have we here ? Eousseau, Voltaire, Did- 
erot, Volney, Fo’ie — good for lighting the fire. 


The new 
silence, and 




THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


19 


Milton, Dante, Tasso, Shakespeare, Yondel. Here is 
something better. 

And in the third book-case : works on languages, Flemish, 
French, English, Danish, Swedish, &c., &c., too long to 
• enumerate. 

' And farther on : natural science, history, antiquities, and 
I know not what besides. My belief is that the gentlemen 
yonder at his writing-table reading so intensely is^ to judge 
by his books, something of an indifferentist, or, as some men 
say now, a free-thinker. 

A free-thinker ! This is still a rarity in the Campine ; 
but, good Campiner, if you should meet with such a thing, 
put on your spectacles, and let them have a good magnifying 
power, that you may be able to observe him well, for he is 
well worth the trouble. A free-thinker, then, is a wonderful 
sort of animal, who does anything but tliinh freely. 

But we have not fully examined the room. 

The middle is filled with great glass cases, which leave 
but a narrow passage between themselves and the book-cases. 
And in these cases are coins of every age, from the old 
Bomans until now ; of every land in America or in Europe ; 
of every form, square, round, or octagon ; of every metal, 
gold, silver, copper — -ay, of nickel. Farther, old iron pots 
full of ashes and bones, varied by stone weapons, rusty dag- 
gers and swords, medals, &c. 

Still farther, skeletons of animals, little and big ; and 
farther again, a collection of birds,, from the mighty ostrich 
to the tiniest humming bird. There a collection of minerals, 
'of seals, of postage stamps, of portraits. It is a collec- 
tion, in short, of collections. Last of all, a multitude of 
grotesque little wooden figures such as little children draw, 
with a stroke for a nose, another stroke for a mouth, and 
two great dots for eyes. What are these ? Above them is 
written, “ False Gods from the wilds of America,” 


20 THE DOUBLE SACKtFICE ; OK, 

And where is the image of the True God — the image of 
the Crucified ? 

You will seek it in vain. It is nowhere to he found. 

We may rest assured, then, that wo are in the library of 
a free-thinker. 

It is even so ; and yet the free-thinker is not so bad a man 
as you may perhaps imagine. 

Mynheer Morren, such is his name, is indifferent as to the 
service of God ; he takes little, or no heed of the fulfilment of 
his duties as a Christian, but he was carefully trained in his 
youth, and he is an honorable man in the ordinary sense of 
the words. He is grave in his demeanor, and leads a strictly 
moral life. He is a kind of philosopher, who is too proud to 
bow to mysteries which are beyond the sphere of his reason. 

He is tolerant, however, and wishes all men to follow their 
own convictions ; so he places no impediments in the way of 
his wife’s piety, who is the very pattern of excellence ; nor 
does he interfere with his only son Victor, who treads in her 
footsteps, and resembles his father only in his enthusiastic 
love of study. For Mynheer Morren, as we have seen plainly 
enough by the aspect of his room, is a passionate lover of 
learning, and it is, in fact, the thirst for knowledge, which, 
for lack of a trustworthy guide, has led him into the way of 
error. 

When, five and twenty years ago, he married Rosa Ver- 
bruggen, the sister of Mevrouw Van Dael, he was still a 
believer, or her hand would never have been his. It was 
long afterwards, and by slow, very slow, degrees, that the 
evil lessons of false philosophy had quenched the light of 
Faith in his soul. 

Mynheer Morren had always a special predilection for tlie 
study of languages, and, among the seven or eight with 
which he was more or less acquainted, he spoke English, Ger- 

piaP) anl Italian 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES* 


21 


His son Victor fully shared his love for this pursuit. 

While his father, as we have said, was busied at his read- 
ing-desk, he sat at a little table absorbed in his book. After 
a time he raised his head. “ Father,” cried he, “ Italian is 
a glorious language. What a poet Dante is. Listen to this 
verse, how the very sound is an echo of the sense.” 

Mynheer Morren was well pleased with the interruption, 
for he passionately loved his son, and he was never better 
pleased than to witness his intense sympathy in his own lin- 
guistic pursuits. 

The reading of the passage was interrupted by a knock at 
the door. It opened at a loud Come in” from Mynheer 
Morren, and Joseph and his sister entered the room, followed 
by Mevrouw Morren. 

“Victor,” cried Morren joyfully, “here are our good 
friends from Schrambeek.” 

The “ Divina Commedia” was flung hastily on the table, 
and Victor grasped Joseph’s hand heartily, for the two youths 
were bosom friends. 

“Well, well, how are you all at Schrambeek? Is your 
mother so fully recovered that you can both leave her to- 
gether ? You came, no doubt, by the fast train ?” 

The young people had so much to say, that they scarcely 
knew where to begin. 

“ You received the letter giving an account of mother’s 
recovery ?” 

“ Certainly ; but we did not expect her convalescence to 
be so rapid that you should be already able to leave home 
together.” 

“ Yet so it is, or else ” 

“But,” interrupted Heer Morren, ringing the bell, “ sit 
down ; we are forgetting everything in the unexpected joy of 
seeing you both. Well, well, what a pleasure it is. Bar- 


22 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


bara,’’ to the maid who came to answer the bell, ‘‘ bring two 
bottles of onr best wine and cigars.’’ 

“ Good, Mynheer,” was the answer, and Barbara departed 
©n her errand as fas>t as her old legs would carry her. 

“ Barbara,” A^ictor called after her, “some of my cigars, 
do you hear ?” 

Barbara loved her young master dearly, for she had watched 
over him in his cradle like a second mother. 

“ Mary and I will go to the garden,” said Mevrouw. “It 
is so lovely to-day it will be a real pleasure to enjoy the fresh 
air in the summer-house ; and while Joseph tells you all about 
his mother’s recovery I shall hear it from Mary.” They 
left the room, and Joseph sat down with his uncle and Victor 
at the library-table, while Barbara fetched the wine and 
cigars. 

“ You seemed surprised just now,” began Joseph, “at our 
coming. I have told you already that my mother is now so 
well that we felt no anxiety in leaving her alone with Bika, 
but besides this we had reason enough to make no delay. . . 
Dear uncle, dearest Victor, I have come to bid you farewell, 
it may be, for ever.” 

“ To say farewell, Joseph ?” they both exclaimed. “What 
is going to happen ?” 

“ I see Dante on the table. Well, I am going to his 
cou^itry.” 

“ To Italy ? But what are you going to do there ?” 

“ AVhat am I going to do there ? To fight for the Church 
and against the revolutionists. To shed my blood, probably 
to offer my life, in the holiest of causes.” 

Mynheer Morren was about to reply when a second knock 
at the door interrupted the conversation, and he had hardly 
said “Come in,” when two persons entered who were evi- 
dently on a most intimate footing in the house. They were 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


23 


two young gentlemen, faultlessly attired in the fashions of 
the day. 

“Ah!’’ cried Mynheer Morren, “here are two more 
friends. Welcome Ernest! welcome Tommaso! Come in 
and sit down.” 

The visit did not seem to ho so welcome to Victor in whose 
glance at the two visitors a slight expression of contempt 
might have been discerned. 

The two gentlemen made many apologies ; they had just 
come in, they said, as they were passing, to say good day, 
hut finding Mynheer Morren engaged, they would go on^ for 
they feared to disturb him by an-un timely visit. 

“ Certainly not,” was the reply ; “at least stay for a few 
minutes. Tommaso, you are Italianissimo. AVell, I have 
the honor to introduce to you my nephew, Joseph Van Dael, 
who is come to tell us that he is just starting for your country. 
And,” turning to Joseph, “ my dear nephew, ” he continued, 
“this is my friend Ernest Van Doreuael, and this Mynheer 
Tommaso di Roccabianca.” 

“ It is always a pleasure to me, dear uncle,” said Joseph, 
“to become acquainted with any friends of yours.” 

“But we will sit down again,” continued the old gentle- 
man. “ Come, drink a glass of wine, and then we will go 
into the saloon.” 

As Mynheer Morren was speaking, the Italian fixed a 
piercing eye upon Joseph, and then exchanged a look with 
Ernest, which seemed to say — this is not one of our sort. 

This fellow, with his fiery eagle glance, was a Ilomau 
carhonarOy who had been obliged to leave his country some 
years before, and was now lurking in Belgium under the 
high-sounding name of Tommaso di Boccabianca. 

The saloon, to which they now repaired, was adorned with 
pictures ; the walls were hung with antique leather, one side 


24 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


with costly tapestry bearing the inscription, Reydaurs fecit. 
It was furnished with fine old carved chests and skilfully 
wrought cabinets, full of Venetian glass and costly china. 

The conversation, which had been interrupted for a moment, 
was renewed, and became more lively. It was carried on by 
persons of various nations, yet all the party could speak 
blemish, for Tommaso, who had already spent some years in 
Belgium, had, with natural readiness, learnt enough of the 
language to be able to express himself without difficulty, and 
to understand it with the greatest ease, 
y “You were telling us, Joseph,” began Mynheer Morren, 

that you were about to enter the Pope’s service, but what 
induced you to make such a decision ?” 

The young man, doubtless, was not very willing to lay 
open the secrets of his heart before strangers, but he answered 
after a short pause. 

“I have offered myself, dear uncle, to obtain the grace of 
my mother’s recovery.” 

‘‘ Oh ! And you really believe that you have thereby 
obtained her restoration to health ? It is a miracle, then, my 
young friend. How can you imagine such a thing ?” 

“ Not so. My mother’s recovery may have been simply 
natural. But, dear uncle, suppose it to have been a miracle, 
there is no impossibility in the case.” 

‘ ^ Miracles ? Nonsense ! Old women’s tales !” 

Fables believed also by wise men. You would not say 
that your favorite English poet, the great Shakespeare, was ' 
an old woman. What does he say ? — 

There are more things in Heaven and earth 
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 

But I will not make too much of my mother’s recovery. The 
doctor dias declared that it was quite contrary to his expecta- 
tion, and I have reason to believe that it may he ascribed - 

f 

i 


tllE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


25 


to the health-giving power of the Sacrament of ENtremo 
Unction.” 

**Now this is better and better,” interposed Ernest. 

* ‘Mynheer Yan Dael is assuredly a century behindhand; ho 
believes that a person can be cured by a little oil out of a 
bottle !” 

“Mynheer,” replied Joseph with dignity, “I will no? 
contradict your assertion ; so far as it concerns me person- 
ally, I am willing to be accounted, not only one century, but 
even eighteen centuries behindhand, if they are to be accounted 
behindhand who are not modern free-thinkers. But,” con- 
tinued he, with increasing energy, “ you wound my Chris- 
tian feelings, you make a mockery of the holiest points in my 
belief, and this I can never endure in cold blood. Do you 
think to shake by your doubts that which has been believed 
for so many hundred years?” 

“ But I am free, at all events, to express my own opin- 
ion,” replied Ernest, “ if I do not believe these things.” 

‘ ‘ Alas ! that you do not believe them ! I venture to 
prophecy to you that there will come an hour when you shall 
believe them — an hour when you shall, perhaps, call despair- 
ingly for the help of a priest of the Lord. Will God then 
vouchsafe to you the means of salvation of which you now 
dare to make a mockery ? He alone knows ; but I pray Him 
not to remember your blasphemy against you at that hour.” 

The young gentleman betook himself to his cigar, and was 
soon enveloped in smoke. 

“But, Joseph,” said Mynheer Morren, who wished to give 
a turn to the conversation, “ what has this to do with your 
determination to go to Rome ? Surely you might know that 
the Papal cause ill deserves support.” 

“As I said just now,” replied Joseph more calmly, “I 
have entered that service in fulfilment of a vow made to 
3 


26 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OK, 

obtain my mother’s restoration to health. But how can you 
say, dear uncle, that the Papal cause ill deserves support? 
If your neighbor, be he called John Brown or Victor Em- 
manuel, wished to take your garden from you on the pretext 
that it is necessary to him in order to make his property four 
square, would you be pleased with any one who should favor 
such a pretext ? Would your own Victor deserve to be called 
your son were he to fail to uphold your rights by every means 
in his power ? And a crowned robber, for whom history is 
even now heating her pitiless branding-iron — a crowned rob- 
ber shall masterfully snatch from my Father his possessions, 
secured to him by the most ancient and the holiest rights, 
and I, a cowardly degenerate son, shall stand by with folded 
arms instead of drawing my sword in his defence ? Oh, 
then, farewell to my glorious name of Roman Catholic !” 

“Bravo, Joseph/’ cried Victor, “that is well spoken. 
You are a worthy son of our old crusading fathers. And 
now see,” he continued, “ what follows from the principles 
which now pass current in Italy. Let the Emperor Napoleon 
but once take it into his head to mark the boundaries of his 
empire by their natural limits of the sea, the mountains and 
the Rhine, and what would Belgium have to say against it ? 
It is as clear as the mid-day sun .” 

“No, capperi ! ” broke in the Italian, “ there is a great dif- 
ference between the two cases ; Ma I'unita d’ Italia, corpo di 
Baccof Italian unity of Italy, here is the reason. All Italy 
pants for it, and the Pope and his personal interests must 
give way to the common good, or be forced to yield to it. 
Too long already has our beautiful country languished under 
the yoke of dukes, priests and foreigners.” 

“ Italian unity. Mynheer? This is not in the power of 
the revolution to effect,” replied Joseph. “ It is a dream in 
which the freemasons themselves have no belief, and their 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


27 


leaders less than any. Do you know what the heads of the 
Italian movement said of the unity of Italy, which had been 
already too long bruited about in every tone and accent? 
‘ The independence and unity of Italy/ wrote the freemason 
Felice from Ancona in 1829, ‘ are dreams, the principle is 
vain ; but it is a means of exciting uproar, and as such we 
may use it.’ The bell-weather, Yindice, uttered a cry at 
Castellamare, in 1838, which removes all doubt as to the aim 
of the revolution. ‘ We have resolved,’ so ran the words, 
‘ that we will not suffer a single Christian to remain upon 
earth. We will lay the Church in her grave.’* Madmen ! 
the experience of eighteen hundred years has not taught them 
that the Church arises from her seeming death, to cast the 
earth over the coffins of her persecutors! Ah I your motto, 
TJnita Italia^ may sound well, if you will ; but it is vain, 
and if you set it in array against ours, Pro Petri Sede I 
forebode to you a final overthrow, though you may first 
rejoice in a temporary triumph.” 

The conversation ran for some time longer on the subject 
of the Pope, and the necessity of his temporal possessions; 
but Joseph, strongly supported by Victor, who — half to his 
further vexation and half to his satisfaction, showed consid- 
erable information and power of argument — gave the two 
liberals so decided an overthrow that they were fairly driven 
off the field, and at last left the room in visible mortification 
and displeasure.” 

“ Per Bacco 1” muttered Maso, when they were outside the 
door, “ if we were in Italy my dagger should soon stop the 
mouth of this hateful vassal of the Pope ; and the son of your 
Morren deserves no better.” 


* Cretineau-Joly I’Eglise en face de la E'evo>ation. Ed. 1853, t.ii. pp. 136 
and 148. 


28 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR^ 


“ Joseph/’ said Mynheer Morren, ‘‘ I am afraid that yoii 
have annoyed these gentlemen. You are a doughty cham- 
pion of your principles.” 

“ I am sorrow on your account uncle,” replied the young 
man ; but they deserve nothing better.” 

“No, no,” said Victor, “you have used your weapons 
well. That Maso, with his fiery eyes, seems to me a danger- 
ous fellow. Who knows what he hides under that fine- 
sounding name, di Eoccabianca. Nothing good, methinks.” 

The two visitors had but just taken leave when Mevrouw 
Morren returned with Mary from the garden. The conver- 
sation now turned upon various matters, especially the recov- 
ery of the widow Van Dael, Joseph’s departure, and the 
state of Italy. Mynheer Morren being now left alone to 
maintain his own opinions found so many and formidable 
opponents that he was obliged at last to acknowledge the 
Pope’s cause not to be so indefensible as he had at first 
believed, though he still persisted in calling his nephew’s 
determination a folly. “And yet, he continued, “I love 
you the better for it. It is a folly, but it is an heroic folly ; 
and I love the man who will lay down his life for his prin- 
ciples.” 

At last the hour of parting came. After a last farewell 
to Mevrouw Morren, Joseph left the house in company with 
A^ictor. The old Hccr Morren followed at a little distance 
with Mary. The two young men conversed earnestly together. 
Apparently they were exchanging their inmost thoughts.” 

The train stood ready to start, so that the brother and sis- 
ter had but just time to get in, and exchange a last farewell 
with their friends from the carriage. 

“ Farewell! farewell!” cried Ileer Morren. 

* ‘ Addio /” was J oseph’s answer — he had already mastered 
one word of Italian — “ farewell till we meet again.” 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


29 


And the train quickly vanished. 

When Mynheer Morren entered his library the next morn- 
ing, he found, that, contrary to custom, his son was not 
there. After making a few guesses as to the cause of his 
absence, his eyes fell upon an open letter lying on his table. 
He read it, turned white, then red^ then white again, his lips 
were strongly compressed, his eyes flashed fire from under 
his knitted brows, and he rang the bell hastily and violently. 


CHAPTER lY. 


THE SON OF THE RICH MAN, AND THE SON OF THE BEGGAR WOMAN. 



ELL, Peerjan — no news inquired Sus, the smith 

of Schrambeek, from the mid.st of a group of 
villagers, of the old Piquet, as he came out of the 
Eagle. 

“ That’s to say, — yes,” was the answer, great news, and 
nothing out of the newspaper.” 

“What then? Let us hear! Let us hear!” came from 
many voices. 

“ Give a guess.” 

‘ ‘ That the schoolmaster is going to marry the brewer’s 
daughter.” 


Bah ! Everybody knows that.” 

“ That your Koben caught a man stealing wood yes- 
terday.” 

“Pshaw! that might easily happen. When I was a 
Piquet in deed, as well as name, I have caught more thieves 
than he could shut up in Schrambeek Church.” 

“ Hola! Peerjan; you are not going to say that we are 

3 * 


30 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 

all thieves, for Schrambeek Church will hold the whole 
village.” 

“ Yes ; but I don’t mean that,” replied the Piquet, who 
saw that he had spoken somewhat beside the mark. ‘‘Guess 
again, good people ; great news 1” 

“ Come, come, tell us at once ; we can’t guess.” 

“ You know the Pope of Rome, eh?” 

“No, no, indeed !” replied several voices. 

“ Know him?” cried Tist, the baker, “ personally, no, by 
name, yes.” 

‘ ‘ But this is the case,” continued the Piquet ; ‘ ‘the Italians 
want to take away his land from him.” 

“ The villains,” roared the smith, “ if I could get at them 
with my sledge-hammer !” 

“Be silent, and let me speak,” said Peerjan, “when I 
have done, you can do what you will. I say, then, that the 
Italians want to take away the Pope’s land from him ; for 
you must know that the whole of Italy is to make one great 
kingdom, and they want to have Rome for its capital. So 
it comes to pass that the Pope and the other Princes must 
give up their dominions.” 

“And suppose they will not give them up?” inquired 
Wouter, the carpenter. 

“ Then I suppose they will be taken by force,” answered 
Tist ; “ that is the fashion now-a-days.” 

“ That is as clear as water,” muttered the smith, “but 
blacker than a smith’s face.” 

“ That’s to say,” continued Peerjan, “that it is not so clear 
as you seem to think ; it will not be so easy as it seems. You 
must know that at this very moment there is a number of young | 
men full of hope, strong and courageous as lions, who are 
going off to Rome to fight for our Holy Father the Pope.” 

“ Yes, I know that well enough,” scornfully answered the 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


31 


little landlord of the Cross Bow, “ You think, I suppose, 
that nobody reads the newspapers but yourself. But what is 
your piece of news from Schrambeek ?” 

‘‘ Well, if you cannot wait, it is this: Joseph Van Dael 
is going to set oif in a few days ; he has entered the Pope’s 
service.” 

‘ ‘ Bravo ! That is grand !” cried they all. 

And,” continued Peerj an mysteriously, “I have heard 
and I believe that it is on account of a vow which he had 
made for his mother’s recovery. 

“Well done!” cried they all in amazement; “all the 
better.” 

“ I have always said,” pronounced the baker oracularly, 
“ that Joseph wes a jewel of a young man.” 

At this moment Teresa, the beggar woman, approached 
the group. 

“ Teresa,” cried the carpenter, “ do you know the news? 
Joseph Yan Dael is going to Borne.” 

“ As if I did not know it,” said Teresa, laughing. “Well, 
the young man is in the right, and he is not the only one 
who will go,” 

And the old woman hobbled away on her crutch. 

“Well,” said Peerjan, “if I had thirty or forty fewer 
years on my shoulders ” 

“ If I had no wife and children,” added the smith. “ But, 
Peerjan, if all Italy was one country, would it be as big as 
Belgium?” inquired the baker. 

“Ha! ha! much bigger. AVhat are you thinking of ?” 

“Have you ever been there, Peerjan?” 

“That’s to say, no; but when I was in Spain, serving 
under Napoleon, I saw it from a distance.” 

“ That is not possible, Peerjan,” said the smith, laughing. 

“ Not possible? What do you say that for? I will soon 


32 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


show you that it is possible. You must know that between 
Spain and Italy there is nothing but the sea ; well, there are 
no hills in the sea to interfere with the view ; it is a flat 
plain. Where is the wonder, then, that I could see Italy 
from Spain 

“Just,’^ remarked the baker, “ as we can see over the 
Scheldt from Antwerp to S. Anneken.’^ 

“ Just so,” replied the Piquet; “the only difference is 
that Italy is farther from Spain.” 

When Peerjan got upon his old stories of the war, he did 
not stick at a few lies to enhance his fame. He had repeated 
them so often and so confidently, that the good man at last 
came to believe them himself. 

Teresa, in the meanwhile, is hobbling from Schrambeek on 
the way to Laarhoeven, a neighboring hamlet. She is going, 
doubtless, to see her son Martin, who is in the service of 
a farmer there. 

“Well, well,” she murmured to herself ; “ what will he 
say to it, my good boy ; and the farmer too, and his wife and 
children who think so much of him ? Ah ! who would ever 
have thought it of my Martin ? But don’t I see him there 
by the fence with Parmer Andries ? Yes, yes, it is he.” 

The laborer, of whom Teresa had caught sight, was a great, 
tall fellow, strongly built and broad across the shoulders, 
with a head of thick, frizzled hair. He would be a luckless 
wight who should fall into such hands ; yet he had an open, 
gentle countenance, and his blue eyes gleamed with the light 
of a good and peaceful heart. It was the temper of a lamb 
in the body of a lion. 

“ Martin,” said Teresa, as she came up to him, “ can you 
walk with me a few steps along the road ? I have but one 
word do say to you.” 

“Surely, mother. What’s the news ?” 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


33 


You shall hear ; hut come with me.’’ 

When they had left the field, Teresa said : “Young man, 
you must go to Rome.” 

“ I go to Rome, mother ? But I have never learned my 
letters.” 

“ Silly hoy, you want no learning ; you must go to Rome 
to fight.” 

“ To fight, mother? You always told me when I was a 
hoy that I must never fight.” 

“ To fight in the streets or with your companions, like a 
good-for-nothing hoy — certainly not ; hut this is quite another 
matter. You must go and fight for the Pope.” 

“What for, mother? What are they going to do to 
him ?” 

‘ ‘ To take away his land ; to drive him out of Rome ; who 
knows ? perhaps to murder him ; that’s what they are going 
to do to him. Martin, you know what I taught you when 
you were a child, that the Pope is our Father, and that we 
must love him as our Father, and therefore as you would 
have helped your dead father when he was alive, so you 
must now go and help the Pope.” 

“ You said so just now. But what can the Pope do with 
me alone to help him ?” 

“ Foolish fellow, you arc not going alone. Volunteers are 
setting off from every country to Rome ; many are already 
gone from our own land. Well, why do you stand there 
hesitating ? You are going, I hope ?” 

“ Going? surely; for the Pope is the Pope, and we are 
his children. But ” 

“What’s the use of but? There are no hut’s wanted 
here.” 

“ Only how to find the way,” hesitated Martin ; “I have 
never been there.” 


34 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


Bah !” said Teresa, “ men get to Borne by asking the 
way, says the proverb ; and, it is true, I ought to have told 
you at the beginning, Joseph Yan Dael is going to Borne, 
and you shall go with him. Mind, young man, that you 
take care of him, for I trust him in your hands. You know 
very well whom your mother has to thank for her life. Now, 
Martin, I can never repay Mevrouw Yan Dael; but the 
mother’s debt is the child’s debt, and if ever you see Joseph 
in danger, spare not your life to save him.” 

“Enough said, mother ; I will go. Why should we spend 
any more time in talking about it? And yet,” he hesitated. 

“ What now then ?” asked Teresa a little impatiently. 

“When I am gone, mother, you will be all alone in the 
world.” 

“ Come, come, good youth ; I am but a poor old woman, 
but I shall manage to get along so long as I live ; and when 
I die, there will be some one found to lay the old cripple 
under ground. Trouble not yourself about such trifles. It 
is all settled, is it not ?” 

“ It is all settled, mother. When are we to set off?” 

“ I am going at once to Joseph to find that out, and I will 
come and tell you to-morrow. Now go and tell the farmer 
that you are going to leave him.” 

The mother and son parted. 

“ He is a g'ood youth/’ muttered Teresa, as she wended 
her way back, “but only just let me have heard him say 
‘ no.’ ” And she lifted her crutch with a.threatening air. 

At about the same time that Teresa was on her way to 
Laarhoeven to find a companion for Joseph, a heart-rending 
scene took place in Mynheer Morren’s library. The old gen- 
tleman held in his hands the fragments of the letter which 
he had found on his table. Before him stood Yictor, like a 
criminal before his iudge. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


35 


What has come over you, Victor ?” said Morren. “ Can 
this he a letter from you which I have torn to pieces ? I can 
hardly believe it.” 

“ It is from me, father. Forgive me for making known 
my A’esolution by letter. I had not courage to do it by word 
of mouth.” 

‘ ‘ I can well believe it ; but I do not understand how you 
could have had the presumption to write me such unreason- 
able folly.” 

“ Folly, father ? So you called Joseph’s determination; 
but you added that it was an heroic folly. Would you ac- 
knowledge this in the person of your nephew, and deny it in 
that of your son ?” 

Folly! unreasonable folly!” muttered Morren to him- 
self, while he paced the room backwards and forwards with 
heavy steps. Phantoms of a sick brain !” 

.He stood still before Victor. 

** And you ask my consent to carry out this mad resolu- 
tion of yours ?” 

“ Assuredly, father, as an obedient child.” 

^ ‘ ‘ As an obedient child ! Mockery ! As a venomous ser- 
pent which stings the bosom that has fostered it ! What did 
I read in your letter ? Did you not write to me that you had 
heard the voice of the Lord bidding you to leave your father 
and your fatherland, to fight for the holiest cause, and that 
you feared to be untrue to that voice ? Does not that mean 
that, in your fanaticism, you will make no account of my con- 
sent, but will follow your visionary fancies at all costs ?” 

“ No, father ; I repeat it. I ask your consent, and with- 
out it I will not go ; but I ask, I implore it earnestly. Oh ! 
father, forgive my boldness for the sake of my love ; for I 
must tell you that you have too long provoked Heaven by 
your unbelief. Oh ! do not place yourself at last between 


36 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


God and me, to separate me from Him, to make me untrue to 
Him ; for, father, then I fear that being withheld, against 
His will, from following the call of God, the punishment of 
disobedience will fall upon your dear head.’’ 

“ Come, come ; no sermons,” said Morren contemptuously : 
“'you know very well, I believe, that they have little effect 
upon me. But, Victor, you will not go without my consent ? 
Be assured then that you will never go. What,” (beginning 
again to pace up and down the room) ‘ ‘ what ! I give the 
consent that you ask ? I offer up my child, my only son, the * 
joy of my life ? And that for a cause which is nothing to 
me — the cause of priests and monks?” 

“ Father, father!” interrupted Victor. 

“ For a Pope of Borne, who is nothing to me. Ah I the 
Father of the Faithful, so they call him ; but, Victor, I am 
your father, who have fostered you, fed you^ and brought 
you up. And you would leave me I Ungrateful child ! 
What has the Pope done for you that he should be preferred 
before me ?” 

“ Forgive me, father, I am not ungrateful,” cried the poor 
boy. ‘ ‘ Oh I if I could only tell you how dearly I love 
you !” 

‘ ‘ Love me ? cruel boy 1 I do not believe it, or how could 
you wish to leave me? Yet,” he continued. “I am unreas- 
onable in my anger ; J have no one but myself to blame for 
having given your mother free leave to bring you up in her 
own bigotry. Yes, I see very well it is she who has put this 
folly into your head.” 

“ No, father,” interrupted Victor, raising his head with 
dignity, and stretching out his arm. “ I have said nothing 
to my mother of my intention. Your suspicion is unjust, 
father ; she knows nothing of it.” 

“ And I am now,” continued Morren, “I am now to crown 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


37 


my imprudence by a last piece of folly, by casting your life 
into the fiery jaws of the revolution, for the sake of I know 
not what principles. No, Victor ; if you asked my leave to 
fight under the banner of Garibaldi, or Victor Emmanuel^ 
you should not have it.’’ 

But, father,” answered the young man with hesitation, 
as if he had recourse to this means only in his utmost need, 

did you not say, only yesterday, that you respected the 
man who would lay down his life for his principles ? Father, 
are you not contradicting yourself?” 

“ Principles !” growled Morren, taken aback by the justice 
of the remark, ‘^principles ! what are they ? Bigotry, fancy, 
dreams ! Go, Victor ; you understand me, you shall never 
have my consent. That is my last word.” 

“ Oh! father,” and the young man fell weeping on his 
knees, “ be not stubborn in your cruel decree. I shall pine 
away and die if you refuse me your consent. Father, must 
I receive my death-stroke from your hand ? Could you look 
calmly on the corpse of your son, sent by you to an untimely 
grave ?” 

Mynheer Morren well knew Victor’s sensitive feelings, and 
his steadfastness of purpose. His paternal heart shuddered 
at the possibility, and even probability, of such a catas- 
trophe. 

“ Unhappy child 1” he cried in a hoarse voice of mingled 
love and anger. “Victor, oh! Victor! I shall go mad. 
Well,” thundered he^ after a short pause, as if hell had 
gained the mastery^ “ be it even so ; for rather would I see 
you die slowly at my side, than become a mark in a foreign 
land for the stranger’s murderous bullet. But no, Victor,” 
continued he, more calmly ; “ you will not die so easily, and 
I am a fool to tremble at such an imagination. Go, then, and 
put all this nonsense out of your head. Go,” continued he, 
4 


38 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


in a tone of severe command, ‘^or I will leave the room my- 
self. I have listened to you too long already.’’ 

The young man left the room with head bowed down, and 
.tearful eyes, while his father continued to walk up and down 
for a long time in visible emotion. At the door Victor met 
his mother, who looked at him in amazement. 

What has happened, Victor?” said she. “ I heard your 
father speaking very loud, and what do I see? You seem 
to have been weeping.” 

“ Oh ! mother !” said he, with a sigh, “ I am very un- 
happy. I have grievously displeased my father.” 

“ What say you, child ? I cannot believe it; it would be 
the first time you ever did such a thing.” 

“ Yet, so it is, mother; and I do not repent it. I have 
done my duty.” 

Ah ! it will not be so bad, Victor, as you think. Come 
with me into the summer-house, and tell me the whole mat- 
ter. We shall be able to set it all to rights.” 

They went into the arbor, and sat down together on the 
bench. Mevrouw Morren took her son’s hand. 

“ Now, Victor,” said she, in that tone of tender sympathy, 
the secret of which belongs only to a mother’s heart, ‘ ‘ lay 
open your trouble to me, your mother, your best friend.” 

“ Mother,” said Victor with a sigh, ‘‘ it will be a great 
pain to me, for I shall grieve you to the heart ; but unless I 
make my trouble known to you, I have no one else to whom 
I can impart it. Mother, I did not mean Joseph to go alone 
to Rome^ I also would offer blood and life for the Church’s 
cause. I seemed to see the old heroes of Christendom rise 
before me, Sebastian and Maurice, and so many other de- 
fenders of our Holy Faith, who shrank no more from the 
martyr’s death than from the soldier’s on the battle-field. I 
seemed to see the mighty warriors who, in the Middle Ages, 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


39 


fought for the redemption of the Saviour’s Tomb. They 
seemed to beckon me to follow them in the glorious path 
which they had trodden before me, and to wave the palm of 
victory before my eyes which awaited them at its end ; and, 
like them, I cried, enkindled with the same holy fire — God 
ivills it. Ah, mother ! ves, God wills it, but my father wills 
it not I I had made my decision known to him in writing, 
imploring his consent. He then sent for me ; I tried every 
means to move him. Alas ! reasoning, entreaties, tears, all 
were in vain. He loaded me with reproaches, as an un- 
grateful child, called me a snake that wounds the breast which 
fostered it. Ah ! mother, this is hard. No, oh, no ! I have 
never been ungrateful. God wills it.^^ 

Mevrouw Morren pressed her weeping son to her bosom. 

“Poor boy!” said she softly. “Ungrateful? you who 
have never given us the slightest pain ? Oh 1 put the cruel 
thought out of your head ; your father himself did not mean 
it ; it was only a word which escaped him in the excitement 
of his feelings and for which he is already sorry. Do not 
give way to unreasonable sorrow over a hasty word.” 

“ But my resolution, mother? to the fulfilment of which 
my father places an insurmountable obstacle.” 

“ Your resolution, my son? Ah God knows how hard a 
sacrifice it would De to my mother’s heart to let you go ; yet 
not for a moment would I venture to stand in the way of the 
offering which the Lord has required of you. I would not 
be less generous than my sister at Schrambeek, and, Victor, 
if the worst were to come, I should account myself happy to 
be the mother of a martyr. Yet, my child, your father will 
not consent; he does not see the duty which lies upon you. 
Be at rest, then, in the assurance that God will not call you 
to an account for its non-fulfilment, and that he is satisfied 
with your good will.” 


40 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


“ Then the punishment will fall upon my father. Mother, 
that thought is equally painful to me.’’ 

“ My son, we will pray for your father yet more fervently 
than we have hitherto done, and God will at last reward our 
tears by his conversion. So, Victor, be tranquil, and do not 
lose your peace.” 

The young man was silent for awhile as if absorbed in liis 
grief. 

“ Mother, mother,” cried he suddenly^ “ I must go !” 

“ How, my son ? You must go ? But your father forbids 
it. Will you go without his consent I” 

“ No, mother ; but I must have it, cost what it may. Yes, 
God calls me ; I must go.” 

“ But, A^ictor, dear A^ictor, have I not shown you that God 
is satisfied with you?” 

“ If I could but explain it to you, mother ! But no ; it is 
a secret wdiich will die with me.” 

Mevrouw Morren looked at her son with amazement. He 
rested his head upon both his hands, and big tears forced 
themselves through his fingers. 

“ AA’^ell, Victor,” said she, “ you have secrets which even 
your mother is not to know. A^ictor, this is not well. I am 
your mother, then, no longer. Come, my child, entrust me 
with your sorrow.” 

“ AVell,” said the young man, raising his head, “ if you 
will have it, I must not keep it from you. Listen.” 

And he whispered a few words in her ear, so low that it 
seemed as if he feared that the birds in the green boughs 
might hear them. 

A light beamed upon the mother’s face, and a glance shot 
from her kindling eyes, which assuredly pierced to the throne 
of the Almighty. 

“Oh, Victor^ dearest son, what a treasure has God given 


TUB PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


41 


me in you ! Go, my son : the Lord is with you ! Victor, 
continued she, “ you shall go, cost what it will.” 

And she pressed her son to her heart, and imprinted a kiss 
of the fondest mother’s love on his forehead. 

“No, mother,” said Victor, hopelessly; “my father will 
keep to his word.” 

“ Well, my child, we will pray , we will pray till he gives 
his consent. And leave it to me, your mother, to speak to 
him on the subject. Our Lord, I am assured, will do the 
rest. Now go to your room, Victor, and be of good cour- 
age ; we must and shall conquer.” 

What secret could Victor have entrusted to his mother, 
which had so suddenly determined her, at all costs, to help 
him to carry out his resolution ? 

It was a secret between them ; and it must have been a 
weighty one, for Mevrouw Morren, after having left her hus- 
band’s anger to cool a little, began the very same day to make 
an atteihpt upon his obstinac}". But she seemed to have 
reckoned too much upon her influence. Mynheer Morren re- 
mained hard against every entreaty, immoveable by any ar- 
gument, obstinately bent upon persevering in his decision. 
“ I have said it,” was invariably his cold and short answer. 
“ I will never consent, never.” 

Victor visibly pined away. The bright, cheerful youth had 
been replaced by a mournful sufferer^ fl^r whom the grave 
seemed already open. 

The change could not escape his father’s eye. lie shud- 
dered, and yet he would not give way. 

“ My consent? Never^ never !” 

How, indeed, should an unbelieving father be able to offer 
his only son u^on the altar of the Faith I 


4 * 


42 


, THE DOUBLE SACKIFICE J OR, 


CHAPTEK V. 

THE DEPARTURE. 

AYE you ever, dear reader, on your return from 
some city in Holland, ^ooVed from the deck of 
the steamboat, on a summer’s day, upon the 
Scheldt below Antwerp ? 

If so, I am sure you will agree with me that it is a fair 
and pleasant sight. The broad river shines like a smooth, 
bright mirror, save when now and then a light wind plays 
upon its surface, and breaks it up in a thousand tiny ripples. 
Here and there a sand-bank lifts its bare head above the 
water ; or you come unawares upon an island, which, with its 
towers, trees, and houses, seems to rise suddenly from the 
bed of the stream ; while on the horizon, in the far distance, 
the eye rests upon a green strip of land, which divides the 
azure of the sky from the azure of the water. 

But see ; that water, which just now lay so bright and 
calm, except where it foamed round the busy wheel of the 
steamer, has suddenly been stirred by an invisible hand. 

Its whole surface is now ploughed by deep, broad furrows. 
From the seaward side, the waves roll on, and foam, and 
rush, and roar, and fling themselves upon each other, as if at 
strife which should outroar and outride the other ; the busy 
stir of life now reigns where, but a few moments before, all 
was calm with the very stillness of death. 

It is the advancing tide. 

Is that roaring flood the tranquil stream of yestereven ? It 
is the self-same water, but it has felt the mastery of a higher 
power, under whose hand it heaves, aud seethes, and swells, 
until, after it has fulfilled its work, it flows again as smooth 
and as tranquil as before. 



THE rONTinCAL ZOUAVES. 


43 


So, for many a year, had the peaceful homelife of these 
youths flowed on under the calm light of their mother’s eye, 
whose hearts were now suddenly fired by a mysterious, elec- 
tric touch, sending the blood burning through their veins, to 
defend the insulted majesty of God. 

It was the breath of the Lord of Hosts, which had en- 
kindled that sacred flame. 

These heroes, the crusaders of our day^ glowing with faith 
and chivalrous ardor and self-devotion, and burning with 
eagerness for the day of battle, could scarce be recognized 
from the gentle boys, who had dwelt in their fathers’ house 
docile as lambs, and peaceful and loving as angels. 

And so it was with Joseph. 

From the moment when his decision was strengthened by 
his mother’s consent, he seemed an altered being ; his bear- 
ing was firm and dignified, as that of a triumphant soldier ; 
and his eyes flashed with enthusiasm when he spoke of his 
approaching journey. 

The day of departure broke at last. It was one of the 
brightest on which the summer sun ever shone. 

All Schrambeek was in great excitement. The trees with 
which the market-place is planted were adorned with the 
Belgian tri-color, or with banners bearing the Papal arms 
emblazoned with the triple crown and the keys of S. Peter. 
Several houses were bedecked with mottoes wishing victory 
to the Papal volunteers. Schrambeek, it was plainly to be 
seen, would send her sons forth in festal array. 

Some of the villagers were still putting a last touch to the 
decorations; others, and among them some of our old ac- 
quaintances, stood gossiping near the church. , 

What are they waiting so long for?” said the host of the 
Cross Bow. “ Should they not be coming out now?”^ 

That’s to say,” said Peerjan, ** I believe we shall not. 


44 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


have long to wait. I saw Martin, dressed all in new clothes, 
go, half-an-hour ago, into Mevrouw Van Dael’s house.’’ 

Was Teresa with him ?” asked the baker. 

“You may be sure of that,” said Sus, the smith. “That 
Teresa is a wonderful old woman.” 

“A good soul,” assented Wouter. “Do you know all? 
Mevrouw Van Dael and Joseph left no stone unturned till 
they got Teresa taken into the hospice. The poor woman is 
now sure of a shelter in her old age.” 

“ The Van Daels are excellent people,” said the smith. 
“ If I can do anything for Mevrouw in Joseph’s absence, she 
may depend upon me. There is nothing I would not do 
to help her.” 

“ It is a great pity,” interrupted the Piquet, “ that Victor 
Morren is not going too. The youth would have given his eyes 
to go, but old Morren will not hear of it, otherwise he would 
have come here yesterday ; but Joseph told me that he had a 
letter from him by which it appears the old man is obstinate 
as ever.” 

“What?” enquired the baker. “Victor Morren go to 
Rome to fight ! But he is not a youth fit for war ; he is so 
good-natured that you may sharpen a vine-stake on his head 
without making him angry.” 

“Just so,” said the smith; but you must not think too 
much of that. Look at J oseph now, so gentle as he is, and now 
he looks for all the world like a soldier.” 

‘ ‘ That’s just it,” said Peerjan ; ‘ ‘ and Morren is not so soft 
as you perhaps think. Be sure he will have plenty of courage 
when it comes to the point.” 

“ There they are ! There they are!” cried some of the 
villagers suddenly. 

And Mevrouw Van Dael approached with her two children, 

one on each 6id« of her. She was followed, by Teresa and 

Mastia, 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


45 


The widow was culm, but pale. Mary seemed to have been 
crying, but was now calm. Joseph walked with head erect, 
and with an expression of mingled joy and sorrow. Martin 
looked as if he was doing the most ordinary thing in the 
world ; and Teresa fixed her eyes with great complacency 
upon her son. 

When the little party drew near to the group of villagers, 
they were greeted with great shouting and clapping of hands. 
Peerjan, especially, who had placed himself in the foremost 
rank, made an indescribable clamor. 

‘‘'Bravo! Joseph, bravo I Martin, you are an honor to 
Schrambeek.” 

Young Yan Dael seemed somewhat taken aback and con- 
fused at this unexpectedly triumphant reception. He shook 
hands heartily with the Piquet and his companions, saying : 

“ Friends, you are too good; we do not deserve so much 
honor.” 

“ That’s to say,” answered Peerjan, “ you deserve a great 
deal more. I have served under Napoleon, and proud enough 
I am of it ; but I would be far prouder to serve under the 
Pope. I wish I could go with you, Joseph, but my old bones 
will not let me.” 

“Well, friends,” answered Van Dael, “while we are 
fighting, you will all pray for the Pope and for us, will you 
not ? So we shall all be working for the same good cause. 
When I get to Rome, I shall ask the Pope to send his bless- 
ing to his loving children at Schrambeek.” A hearty hurrah 
was the reply. 

Within the church the solemn tones of the organ were 
sounding through the aisles. It was like a victorious war- 
song, mingled with lowly prayer. Now the thrilling accents 
of the vox liumana arose to implore power and strength from 
heaven; then the mighty voice of the trumpet seemed to 


46 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; Oil, 


threaten the enemy with vengeance and death, and the roll- 
ing sound of the trombone spoke like the thunder of the 
offended God. 

The Papal Volunteers^ with their relations, entered the 
church, and were followed by a crowd of villagers. 

Joseph and Martin knelt side by side before the altar, and 
the venerable parish priest soon appeared, in his white sur- 
plice, from a side door. 

“ He slowly approached the altar, and, kneeling upon the 
step, he intoned a solemn “Fern Creator in a deep voice 
which yet trembled with emotion ; and the full voice of the 
choir took up the thrilling appeal to the God of armies. 

As the last accents of the prayer pealed through the 
church, the venerable priest turned to the young soldiers, 
and in a few impressive words he bade them a hearty fare- 
well in his own name and in that of his whole flock. The 
old man’s spirit-stirring words seemed to have infused new 
life into himself. He spoke simply, indeed, but with intense 
energy, of the sufferings, and oppressions of the Church and 
of her Head ; of the glorious mission to be accomplished by 
those who were now offering themselves for her defence and 
triumph ; and of the reward which one day awaited them in 
Heaven. 

“ Go,” he said ; “ go, children of my special love ; go, full 
of courage, to the battle. The Lord of Hosts shall be with 
you. - He will overshadow you with His shoulders, and under 
His wings shall you trust. He hath given His Angels charge 
over you to keep you in all your ways — they shall fight at 
your side ; and may the Most High fulfil to you the words of 
the sacred Book, ‘ A thousand shall fall at your side, and ten 
thousand at your right hand, but it shall not come nigh thee. 
Nevertheless with thine eyes shalt thou consider and behold 
the recompense of sinners/ And then, dear children, the 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


47 


^ Te Deum^ shall sound for your joyful return louder than 
the hymn of supplication which we have now chanted to- 
gether.” 

The priest left the altar, and the multitude hastened out 
of the church; for now was heard the loud music of the 
Schramheek hand. The air rang with the advancing sound 
of the Belgian national airs, and they marched on to the rail- 
way with their hearts full of the enthusiasm which such 
music awakes. Schramheek would fain hear her children 
company as far as possible. 

The railway was hut a few minutes’ walk from the market- 
place, so that they soon reached it. 

Joseph and Martin exchanged many hearty shakes of the 
hand with their friends and acquaintances, and spent tne few 
remaining minutes in a last farewell to their families. 

Mevrouw Yan Dael was pale, yet firm; that mother must have 
had a strong heart to offer up her son so calmly. Joseph 
also was composed ; hut Mary, weaker hy nature, hurst once 
more into tears. 

“Oh! Mary,” said Joseph gently, “why do you weep? 
Would you have me desert our Father ?” 

“ No, brother,” sobbed the poor girl ; “ hut it is so hard 
to say farewell.” 

Teresa meanwhile had beckoned Martin aside, and drew a 
little hag mysteriously out of her pocket. 

“ Martin_,” she said, “ behave like a brave man. Do you 
hear? Take care of Joseph, and if Victor Morren comes^ 
as, sooner or later, I doubt not he will, take care of him, 
too ; his mother has always been good to us. Here,” she 
continued, giving him the little bag, “ give this to the Pope 
of Borne from your mother; he will want it more than I 
shall ; but mind, boy, that you are to touch none of it by the 
way. There are five-and-twenty francs, the half of which I 


48 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


received yesterday from Mevrouw Morren, and the rest from 
another good soul. It will not, I hope, he my last gift, for 
I get more than I want.” 

The train appeared in the distance, the hell rang, and the 
Schramheek hand poured forth, as a parting greeting, Maga- 
zari’s popular song, the “Hymn to Pio Nono.” 

A last fervent embrace between mother and son, sister and 
brother ; hats were waved joyfully over every head, and a 
mighty cry of exultation and affection arose from the crowd 
of villagers. 

‘ ‘ Long live the Pontiff-King !” Long live his soldiers !” 
“ Farewell! farewell 1” greeted them from every mouth. 

And the two volunteers were carried swiftly out of sight. 

What had become of Victor all this time ? 

Late on the day of Joseph’s departure, Barbara, Mynheer 
Morren’ s old servant, stood crying in the kitchen with her 
apron thrown over her head. 

She suddenly uncovered her face to look at the clock. 

“ Good heavens!” she sobbed. “ Yet only half an hour, 
and to think I shall lose him forever — I who thought never 
to part from my young piaster but on my death-bed. I must 
now bid him farewell — I, who brought him up^ fostered, 
and cared for him as my own child — I, whom he often called 
his second mother. Poor Victor ! who would ever have 
thought it?” and the good woman began to weep again. 

What had befallen, then, in the house of Mynheer Morren ? 
Was Victor already wrestling with death under the weight 
of his sorrow, that Barbara speaks so mournfully of a last 
farewell? No; the young man since yesterday evening had 
been like a new creature,, full of calm joy. 

His mother had striven so long ; they had both prayed so 
fervently to God, that Mynheer Morren had at last given 
way. The wounded pride of the old philosopher had gained 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


49 


the victory over his obstinacy. There was nothing which 
Morren could less endure than to be convicted of inconsist* 
ency. His wife had made use of this side of his character, 
and insisted continually upon the contradiction between his 
actions and his principles. He had always laid it down as a 
maxim that every one should be left free to follow his own 
convictions, and he always accounted him to be a coward who 
shrank from carrying them out, at whatever cost. And now 
he was denying this permission to Victor, and thereby not 
only preventing him from following the convictions of his 
conscience, but acting in direct contradiction to his own 
principles. 

. Mynheer Morren’s paternal love struggled long with the 
stern fortitude of the philosopher ; but the conflict ended in 
the victory of proud reason, the god of' the free-thinker, 
assisted, truth to tell, by his paternal love itself ; for Mynheer 
Morren could not view without anxiety the ^visible decline of 
Victor’s health,, which seemed to point to the mournful issue 
he had anticipated. 

‘•'Well,” he said at last, impatiently, “Victor is of age; 
he is therefore his own master. I leave him free to do what 
he wills, but my approval I will never give.” 

Mevrouw Morren was with her son, making known to him 
the long-desired permission, when her husband sent word to 
her by Barbara that he was going to leave home for a few 
days, to avoid further leave-taking ; that Victor, if he liked, 
might come to bid him farewell, but it must be in few 
words. 

The young man hastened at once into his father’s room. 

“ Thanks, father, thanks,” he cried as he entered it. 

“ No thanks to me,” Morren interrupted him harshly ; “1 
deserve reproaches, rather. Child,” cried he more softly, 
and with a tear in his eye, “ Child, who art causing me such 
5 


50 


THE DOUBLE SACEIFICE ; OR, 


sorrow, and whom I yet love so well, farewell ! May you be 
happy, and may I soon see you again !’’ 

‘‘ Ah, father, I hope so. God will grant it to us. And, 
father, I am very sure that a time will come when you will 
bless the hour when you gave me leave to go ; and then you 
will know how dearly I love you, father.” 

Victor kissed the hand which Morren held out to him, and 
a scalding tear fell upon it. 

j This was too much for the father’s heart. Mynheer Mor- 
ren fell upon his son’s neck, and they mingled their tears in 
a fervent embrace. 

This unexpected change took place the evening before 
Joseph’s departure. Victor had not time to reach Schram- 
beek so as to accompany his friends on their journey ; but he 
reckoned upon being able to reach Brussels before they could 
leave it, and had agreed with his mother to start by the latest 
train for the capital. 

Meanwhile the mother and son sat alone together, enjoying 
the painful pleasure of a last interview. 

Mevrouw Morren’s eye rested with motherly love upon her 
child. 

She seemed to be absorbed in thought. 

The hour had at last arrived at which the offering which 
had been required of her by God was to be made, and she 
had not shed a single tear. ‘‘Many a pious mother,” writes 
the late Cardinal Wiseman in his “Fabiola,” “ has devoted 
her infant son from his cradle to the holiest and noblest state 
that earth possesses ; has prayed and longed to see him grow 
up to be, first a spotless Levite, and then a holy priest at the 
Altar ; and has watched each growing inclination and tried 
to bend gently the tender thought towards the sanctuary of 
the Lord of Hosts. And if this was an oply child, as Sam- 
uel was to Anna, that dedication of what was dearest to her 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


61 


keenest affection may justly be considered as an act of maternal 
heroism. What then must be said of ancient matrons, Feli- 
citas, Symphorosa, or the unnamed mother of the Machabees, 
who gave up, or offered up their children , not one, but many, 
yea all, to be victims, whole-burnt, rather than priests to 
God r 

What then must be said, may I ask also, of the Christian 
mothers of our day, who, like Mevrouw Morren, generously 
offer their children, perhaps an only son, for the cause of the 
Lord, courageously and gladly sacrificing their young lives 
for the service of the Church, undeterred by the terror of a 
painful martyrdon under the fire of the barbarous foe ? 

Ah ! they know well that their children are pledges 
bestowed on them by God ; they know that the Angels watch 
with the laurel-crown over the battle-field of the dying sol- 
dier ; they know that the crown of their child in Heaven will 
be the mother’s crown also. 

Thoughts like these were busy in Mevrouw Morren’s heart, 
and gave her strength to bear the hard and bitter wrench of 
the coming separation. 

It was intensely painful to Victor’s heart also to say fare- 
well ; but with him as with his mother, the steadfastness of 
faith overcame the weakness of human love. 

Let not men deceive themselves ; they are not unfeeling, 
the heroic mothers, the noble-hearted sons, who freely offer 
all that is dearest to them, for God and for His Church. 
No; the voice of human love for parents or for children, is 
never louder, never tenderer, than in the heart where it is 
mingled with that of the love of God, to rise together as one 
mighty cry to Heaven. 

The mother and son had sat for some time in silence, when 
Victor broke it at last by the words — 

“Mother, it is time. We must part.” 


52 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR 


A shudder passed over the mother’s frame, hut she over- 
came her emotion, and answered, with a voice which was calm, 
though full of love. 

“ Well, my child, my dearest Victor, the will of God he 
done ! Let us part, like the martyrs of the early ages, full 
of trust and strength. Here, my hoy, is a last keepsake 
from your mother.” 

And she gave him her photograph, on the hack of which 
she had written the following words of saintly heroism : 

“ Go, my child ; obey the call of God. May the Angels 
watch over you. Fear nothing hut God and sin. Pray for 
us all. Pray for your father. Pray for your mother, who 
blesses you from the very bottom of her heart ; she will pray 
for you and follow you everywhere with her thoughts, her 
heart, and her love. 

“ Your mother and your friend, 

“Eos A Morren.” 

“Oh, Mary! I entrust my dearest child to you. Keep 
him pure and innocent. Beg your Divine Son to give him 
back to us, if it he His holy will. But may my son ever 
remember the words of Queen Blanche to her child, and may 
he die rather than ever grievously offend God.” ^ 

“Thanks, thanks, mother,” cried Victor; “I will never 
forget this counsel. I will keep the precious gift as a holy 
thing next to my heart, which may defend me from the bul- 
lets of the Church’s enemies, till, when I come hack again, 
if it please God, I lay it in your hands once more as a memo- 
rial of my holy crusade.” 

“ God grant it, Victor,” sobbed Mevrouw Morren ; “but, 
oh I my child, my child, shall I ever see you again?” 

“Let us hope, mother. The Lord is Almighty, and He 
watches over His own. Disturb not yourself with ground- 
less fears for the future.” 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


53 


No, my child ; far from me be any such weakness, any 
shadow of despair, I have told you, Victor, God will, I 
trust, give me strength to account myself happy to be the 
mother of a martyr. No, my son, my view shall not be 
bounded by the narrow horizon of this short life ; it shall 
pierce through the realms of eternal light to find you once 
more before the throne of God.” 

And now, dear mother,” said Victor, as he knelt before 
her, “ your blessing in your own name and in the name of 
my father.” 

A tear sprang into his eye at the thought of that absent 
father, who had found no blessing in his unbelief. 

Mevrouw Morren raised her eyes to heaven, as if to ask 
strength for her words, and then said, in a voice of deep 
emotion — 

‘ ‘ May the Lord bless you, my dearest child, even as your 
mother blesses you. Fight manfully God’s battle for His 
holy Church, and remain true and unchangeable in the love 
of your Kedeemer, true and unchangeable even unto death. 
In the name {)f the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy 
Ghost.” 

And the noble-hearted mother made the sign of salvation 
over the bright forehead of her son. 

“ Amen,” sobbed Victor, and threw himself into his 
mother’s arms to pour forth the last utterances of nature in 
her bosom. 

They left the room and went to the kitchen. Barbara 
knew by their entrance that the hour of departure was come, 
and burst into a fresh flood of tears. 

“Come, good Barbara.” s.aid Victor in a tone which he 
hoped to make as encouraging as possible ; ‘ ‘ you must not 
cry at such a happy moment.” 

‘^Not cry?” said the poor old woman. “ Oh, if I were 

5 * 


54 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


as heroic as you are, who can make such a sacrifice joyfully ! 
But, oh ! dear child, I am weak and old ; Victor, I shall 
not have you by me when I am on my death-bed !” 

“ Barbara, you must not be so desponding. How do you 
know that I shall not come back ? I hope, indeed, that God 
will soon send us victory, and then I shall soon come back to 
you and my father and mother, and we shall all live happily 
together again. Barbara, you would not have me stay at 
home when so many brave children of the Church are has- 
tening to Home ?” 

‘^‘'No, oh ! no, Victor : but it is so hard to part.” 

“ It will be all the more joyful to meet again. But I must 
go. Farewell, Barbara ; pray with my mother for me, and 
pray also for my father, as I shall pray for him and you.” 

•'‘Oh! surely, surely, child of my love!” sobbed poor 
Barbara. “Farewell, Victor, farewell!” and she nurried 
out of the kitchen to give free vent to her tears in the garden. 

Victor’s traveling bag, ready packed by Barbara, was now 
hanging on his arm. Mevrouw Morren followed her beloved 
child to the door, gave him one more embrace, and the young 
man left the house with the words : 

“ Farewell, dear mother, till our next happy meeting !” 

“ Farewell, dear son !” was her answer ; “farewell in the 
grace of God !” 

Her suppressed emotion choked all further utterance. 

No sooner had Victor vanished at the corner of the street, 
after kissing his hand to her for the last time, than she has- 
tened to her room, and, before the image of the Immaculate 
Mother Maid, she relieved her overburthened heart by a flood 
of tears and an earnest entreaty for grace to persevere in her 
sacrifice faithfully to the end. 

When Victor reached the railway station, he was recog- 
nized by two passers-by. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


55 


“ Ernest,” enquired the one, “ is not that Victor Morren 
“Indeed it is,” was the reply, “ and he is going to the 
railroad. Whither can he be going, Maso ?” 

“ Per hacco muttered Maso ; is it not to-day that the 
young bigot from Schrambeek was to set off? Who knows 
but Victor is going to Rome too 

“ He is fool enough. Now we must find out. Let us go 
to Morren’s house.” ^ 

A few minutes later they rang the bell. Barbara opened 
the door. 

‘ ' Is Mynheer Morren at home ?” 

“ He went out of town yesterday.” 

“ And the young gentleman ?” 

“ Ah ! he has just now set oif for Home,’’ and poor Bar- 
bara burst again into tears. 

The two visitors made a great show of sympathy, sent 
many kind messages to Mevrouw, and went their way. 

Maledetto papalino said Maso^ between his teeth; 
“ he shall pay for it, Ernest; he shall pay for it.” 

And his dark eyes gleamed with bloodthirsty hatred, like 
the eye of a tiger ready to spring upon its prey 

When Victor joined the party of Pontifical Volunteers 
that evening, at Brussels, he was greetea by a joyful cry 
“ Hurrah ! hurrah !” they cried; “here is Victor 1” 
“Welcome! welcome!” cried Joseph. “ Victor, I knew 
that you must come !” 

And the two friends embraced heartily. 



1 


56 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


CHAPTER VI. 

Rome. 

FEW days had elapsed since the departure of the 
three Papal Volunteers. Mynheer Morren, with 
his wife, had gone to their country-house at 
Schramheek, where they were accustomed to 
spend some time every summer. Mevrouw Morren was espe- 
cially glad to be there at this time, partly to congratulate her 
sister upon her recovery^ and still more to give and receive 
from her sisterly sympathy in their mutual anxiety for their 
absent children. 

Since Victor’s departure. Mynheer Morren had been unu- 
sually reserved and stern. Sometimes he passed the whole 
day shut up in his library, so that his wife could hardly get a 
few words out of him, and those few dry and cold in the 
utmost degree. 

The loving wife and tender mother assuredly suffered 
greatly under this undeserved harshnesss but she was resolved 
to persevere in her sacrifice to the end, and she gained cour- 
age and tranquility before her image who is called the 
“Mother of Sorrows.” 

Her husband was too just and reasonable not soon to per- 
ceive the folly of his conduct; and as his sound judgment 
brought him to a calmer state of feeling, he became gradu- 
ally more kindly towards the noble woman, who he could not 
but acknowledge bore his harshness with a most wonderful 
patience and forebearance. 

Of Victor he had not yet suffered a word to be spoken. 

But let it not be Imagined that the voice of paternal love 
had been silenced by his son’s departure. 

That love is never extinguished except in the heart of a 
monster, 



THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


57 


It cost the proud reason of the philosopher too much to 
acknowledge himself to be overcome ; but however obstinate 
the philosopher might be, the father could not lay aside his 
feelings, and immediately after Yictor’s departure Mynheer 
Morren had written to a friend, an artist in Kome, who had 
lived there for many years, begging him to keep an eye upon 
Victor, and to give him information of his welfare frbm time 
to time. 

The husband and wife had been already two days at 
Schrambeek, and tidings were daily expected from the Papal 
Volunteers. 

The villagers of Schrambeek watched eagerly for news. 

‘‘ Well, Jufvrouw Mary, nothing yet ?” 

This was Peerjan’s daily inquiry of Joseph’s sister as they 
left the Church after Mass. 

“Nothing yet, Peerjan; but we could hardb^ nave heard 
yet.” 

“That’s the thing; don’t talk to me. I know it well 
enough, for I have been in Spain, and Spain lies flat over 
against Italy. It’s no trifle to take a journey there.” 

“ Oh, no, Peerjan; the journey is not so long as in your 
day, steam makes it so much easier.” 

“ That is true,” said the Piquet. ^“At all events, they 
are brave boys, and do honor to Schrambeek.” 

At last, one morning, just as Mevrouw Morren entered her 
sister’s house, the long-expected tidings came — a letter with 
the Roman post-mark. 

The cover was torn asunder with anxious haste, and two 
full sheets fell upon the table. Victor, doubting whether or 
not his 'parents would be at Schrambeek, had enclosed his 
letter in Joseph’s ; or rather, the two young men had written 
a united letter, and the second sheet was a postscript from 
Victor to his mother. 


58 THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 

“We reached Eome,’^ so ran the letter, “this evening, and ‘ 
we cannot let the morning’s post go out without sending you I 
these few words to tell you that our journey, both by sea and 
land, has been safely accomplished. We left Paris on Tues- 
day at mid-day, reached Lyons on Wednesday morning, and | 
Marseilles in the evening. We arrived at Leghorn on Friday 
at mid-day, and on Saturday morning landed at Civita , 
Yecchia. 

“What was our joy at last to tread that ground on which 
we had so intensely longed to be! We would fain have 
thrown ourselves on the ground to kiss the earth, which is as i 
dear to u*s as Palestine to the Crusaders. But how shall I 
describe our feelings, when, from the train along the banks of 
the Tiber^ our eyes fell first on the Basilica of S. Paulo, then 
on Santa Maria Maggiore, and many of the other great 
churches of Borne. When we landed at the Porta Portese, and 
were welcomed by many of our fellow-countrymen, who had 
preceded us to Borne, unconsciously,” continued Victor, “I 
muttered to myself Tasso’s beautiful verses on the Crusader’s 
first fight of Jerusalem ; for Borne, my Jerusalem, lay full 
before me, and I could find no words but his to speak what 
I felt : — 

Ecco apparer Gerusalem si vede . i 

Ecco additar Gerusalem si scorge : i 

Ecco de mille voci unitaraente 
Gerusalemmp salutar si sente. 

“ But,” continued the letter, “ we must not forget Martin. , 
Oh 1 he is so happy, and he says he would not go back if 
you would give him two thousand francs. He is very droll, ' 
and has amused us wonderfully on the way. When we asked | 
him if he had no message to send to his mother, he answered 


* “ La Gerusalemme,’’ lib, c. iii. st. 3. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


59 


— ‘ Tell her that all is well ; that I am very happy ; that the 
five-and-twenty francs are all safe and sound ; and that she 
was in the right when she said to me — One gets to Rome by 
asking the way, and you won’t be alone there.’ ” 

In such a happy strain — which was more than enough to 
prove their perfect contentment — Victor and Joseph continued 
their letter, which closed with the assurance of speedy news, 
and the request for an early answer. 

On a separate sheet Victor had' written the following words 
to his mother : 

“Deakest Mother, — 

“ I ought not to prolong my letter, but it is such a 
great delight to me to converse with you. I wish I could 
describe to you all the interesting things which I have already 
seen. I shall not tell you that I am tired with the journey, 
for I am not, though we only stopped a night at Marseilles. 
It is about half-past eleven o’clock, so I must leave you. Oar 
parting costs me dear, but the motive which called me to it is 
a great consolation to me, and I thank God who inspired tlic 
sacrifice which He has enabled me to make to Him. Dear 
mother, may the holy motives which induced you to olfer me 
to the Holy Father be your comfort, and set you fully at rest 
on my account. Above all, be not sad ; but console your- 
self, as I do, by the thought of the holy duty which we arc 
fulfilling. 

‘‘Farewell, dear mother; I embrace you with all my 
heart, and my father also, whom I charge you to love with 
double affection — for yourself and for me. And lastly, my 
very dear mother, give your blessing to your own Victor.” 

Here is the true expression of faith and heroism, the most 
entire simplicity with the sublimest self-sacrifice. 

Victor and his comrades were shortly after their arrival 
incorporated into the body of Zouaves ; they were to remain 


60 


THE DOUBLE sacrifice; or, 




a few days in Rome before joining tlieir companions in the 
camp at Collescipoli. 

\\ e may imagine wbat use V ictor, who was so enthusiastic 
a worshipper of antiquity, made of his short stay in Rome. 
He visited, successively, the libraries of the Vatican and the 
Minerva, the museums and the galleries of paintings and 
sculpture ; nor did he neglect the monuments of old Pagan 
Rome, the Forum, the Capitol, the Temple of Vesta, the 
Baths ; but, above all, like a fervent Catholic, as he was, he 
lingered in admiration amid the wonders of Christian art ; he 
spent hours upon hours under the giant vaults of S. Peter’s, 
before the tomb of the Prince of the Apostles, within the 
venerable walls of Santa Maria Maggiore and S. John Late- 
ran, and in the wide aisles of the other great Basilicas of 
Rome. 

But with the most especial love he lingered in the Cata- 
combs, the ancient scene of the piety and heroism of the early 
Christians. With fervent faith he knelt before the tombs of 
the martyrs, and renewed his vow to give his life nobly, 
after their example, for the defence of our holy Faith. 

He was praying one day before the grave of the Pope in 
the Catacomb of S. Callixtus, and it seemed to him as if the 
glorious sufferers arose from their rest, all glowing with 
supernatural fire, and as if they infused a portion of it into 
his own breast, making his blood flow quicker through his 
veins and his bosom swell with unwonted courat^e. ° 

Another day he went with Joseph and Martin to the 
Basilica of S. Sebastian ; and here, again, he felt inspired 
with new strength by the thought of that glorious Saint, who 
first earned the title of “Defender of the Church.” 

But his happiness was completed by an audience of the 
beloved Father of the Faithful, the gracious and loving Pius 
IX. ; and he wept with emotion on receiving a blessing from 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


61 


the hand to which the Lord had intrusted the keys of the 
Kingdom of Heaven. Nor did his happiness stop here, as 
he wrote a few days afterwards to his mother : 

“ My very Dear Mother. 

“ What happiness! I am beside myself with joy! 
We have just had an audience with the Holy Father — Joseph, 
Martin, and I. I really do not know how to give you an 
idea of his goodness, and of the great and sweet impression 
which he has made upon my mind. 

“ It was Mgr. S. who not only obtained for us the happi- 
piness of seeing and speaking with His Holiness, but an 
additional precious favor of which I shall tell you by and by. 

“We had our audience this evening. While Mgr. S. 
was with His Holiness we were left in an ante-chamber, in 
which, as usual, there were prelates of the household, chap- 
lains, and other persons, all dressed in purple like Bishops. 
I had a long talk with one of them, who, besides his purple 
cassock, wore also a purple ring, and not observing that he 
had no cross upon his breast, we took it into our heads. that he 
was a bishop (he had quite the bearing of one) and we called 
him Monseigneur all the time we were conversing with him. 

“We afterwards asked the Holy Father’s chaplain the 
name of the Bishop who had been talking to us. He answered 
that he was simply a chamberlain of His Holiness. We 
laughed heartily over our mistake. 

“ Meanwhile, Mgr. S , having finished his audience, came 
to call us into the Holy Father’s presence. It was an awful 
moment and our hearts beat audibly. We were introduced 
into a small room, furnished with the utmost simplicity. 
Having observed the usual ceremonies, we found ourselves 
at the feet of the good and great Pius IX. I cannot describe 
to you what was my emotion at that moment, Mother, I am 
already more than repaid for my sacrifice. 

6 


62 


THE DOUBLE SACKIFICE ; OR, 


“ After having allowed us to kiss his ring, the Holy Father 
gently patted us all on the shoulder. 

‘Ah! Ah! my Zouaves. You are Belgians, I think ? 

“ ‘ Yes, Holy Father,’ answered I, ‘ and our families have 
sent us to your Holiness’ feet, to testify their feelings of rev- 
erence and deep attachment.’ 

‘ ‘ The Holy Father inquired with a most tender solicitude 
after our parents and relatives, and was visibly affected when 
he heard that Joseph had offered himself to obtain his mother’s 
recovery. I spoke to him of you, mother, and of my father, 
and he promised me to pray for you both. 

“But when we gave him good Teresa’s gift (Martin in 
his simplicity had put the purse into his hand as soon as ho 
came into the room,) then a tear started into his eye 

“ ‘ This is the widow’s mite,’ he said: H have not the 
heart to refuse it. But, children,’ he continued, H must do 
something in ackwowledgement of so much fidelity and affec- 
tion. See, here is a remembrance for your parents,’ and he 
gave us three gold medals. ‘Ah I’ added he, a moment 
afterwards to Joseph, ‘I forgot you have a sister. Well, 
here is something for her too,” and he gave him a mother-of- 
pearl rosary. 

“ Then he spoke a few words about our country, for which 
he said he had a great affection. At last I ventured to make, 
known to him our most earnest desire. 

‘ Holy Father,’ I said, ‘ there is a very great favor which 
we wish to ask of your Holiness ; it is that we may receive 
Holy Communion from your hands, and thus obtain the 
blessing of our Lord upon our undertaking.’ 

“‘Assuredly,’ was the reply; ‘come to my chapel to- 
morrow morning. How can I deny anything to my dear 
Zouaves ?’ 

“ ‘ Holy Father,’ we said, ‘ we are deeply thankful to your 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


63 


goodness to us, and wc trust bj God’s grace to serve you as 
becomes true Belgians — that is to say, as loyal and Christian 
soldiers.’ 

“ ‘Then he blessed us again, and also some rosaries and 
medals which we had with us ; he allowed us once more to 
kiss his ring, and we took our leave, 

“ But no : he suddenly recalled me alone. 

“Oh! mother, his loving eye had pierced through my 
soul, he had read my secret — that secret which I imparted to 
you in the summer-house. His eyes were moist, and he 
spoke with a voice of emotion which sounded prophetically in 
my ear. 

“ ‘ Go, my son, in this your strength, the Lord is with 
you ; you will conquer.’ 

“ Mother I the words echo continually in my heart. Was 
not this the voice of the Lord speaking through the voice of 
His Yicar ? 

“ It is impossible to express the joy and consolation which 
we received from our interview with the Pope. Martin, the 
simplest amongst us, expressed his feelings in the sublimest 
way. 

“ On our way to the Vatican, as we admired the beauties 
of nature and art, he answered : 

“ ‘ The only thing that I desire is to see the Holy Father, 
to receive his blessing and Communion from his hand, and 
then to die for him, I hope that it will please God then to 
take me to Heaven.’ 

‘ ‘ He was right ; and now we have not only seen this dear 
Pio NonOy but have spoken with him as children with their 
father ; and to-morrow we shall receive from his fatherly 
hand the Body and Blood of our Lord. 

“Will the wish of our comrade be further fulfilled ? God 
knows.. But I hope mother that you are ready to be the 
mothe^of a martyr as you promised me. 


64 


THE DOUBLE SACBIFICE ; OR, 


‘ ‘ And now farewell, dear mother ; I must prepare to unite 
myself with my Eedeemer heart to heart. My most fervent 
prayers shall rise to-morrow for you and for my father.” 

That night Victor fell into a peaceful sleep with his 
thoughts full of the great happiness which awaited liim on 
the morrow, hut a terrible dream soon came to torture his 
heart. 

lie saw a boundless ocean, whose wild waves, lashed by 
the fury of a fearful storm, rose seething and roaring to 
heaven, and threatened all around with death and destruc- 
tion. A multitude of rocks raised their naked tops above 
the water, cruel birds of prey swept over the waves, and 
horrible monsters raised their necks out of the water, threat- 
ening to tear and swallow up the drowning wretches who 
should fall into their power. 

Amid the fury of the storm, a noble ship moved in majestic 
tranquility over the water. Despite of winds and waves it 
pursued its even path through the threatening rocks as on a 
summer sea. The crew seemed to slumber, so peacefully did 
it move amid the storm, which was howling all around. The 
helmsman stood watching at his post ; he was a venerable old 
man, and Victor seemed to recognize in his countenance the 
features of the beloved Father of the Faithful, which had 
made so indelible an impression on him yesterday. Victor 
seemed to himself to be on board, with his mother and others 
of his friends. But, alas ! casting a glance upon the raging 
waves, he saw a drowning man struggling with the water, 
now thrown upwards by the force of the waves and then en- 
gulphed in them again ; and the monsters which surrounded 
lilm were already opening their jaws to devour the miserable 
man. God of Heaven ! It is his father. 

Victor uttered a cry, and instantly plunged into the roar- 
ing waves to rescue that beloved being. He fought with the , 


i 




I 

i 

■i 

s; 

t] 

P 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


65 


I 


waves, the winds, and the sea-monsters. The birds of prey 
screeched hoarsely above his head ; yet he pressed on. He 
was near him when an indescribable anguish seized upon 
him ; the monsters of the deep were tearing his body ; still 
he pressed onward. But one more effort, and he would reach 
his father. Alas ! another fearful wave hurled him back- 
ward — his strength gave way ; he feels the icy cold of death 
freezing his veins — but he must conquer or die. Forward ! 
forward ! Ah ! he has seized hold of his father ; but the 
unhappy man struggled against him. His leaden weight 
dragged the poor youth with him into the gulf. Victor I 
Victor ! must you fail in your enterprise of love ? No ; 
the brave son casts an eye on the bark, and there his mother 
and the helmsman sign to him to be of good comfort. 

At last he utters a cry imploring help from Heaven, makes 
a last desperate effort, and bears his father up above the heads 
of the sea-monsters, which are crowding round to tear him 
to pieces. He has reached the boat ; he has laid the drown- 
ing man upon the bosom of his weeping mother, and he him- 
self falls in his death-agony at the feet of the helmsman, who 
gives him a last blessing. His father is saved. 

And, like fleeting clouds, the images of his dream vanish 
in a calm and peaceful slumber. 

Poor Victor ! was it a play of your sanguine imagination 
which thus came to break your rest ? 




66 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


CHAPTER YII. 

THE CARBONARO. 

you ascend the Janiculum, leaving the Traste- 
vere towards the western side of Rome, you 
come, not far from the Gate of S. Pancratius, 
to the Pauline Fountain, called by the Romans 
Fontanone di S. Pietro in Montorio. 

It is the largest and most abundant fountain in Rome. 
Paul Y., after whom it is named, caused it to be erected by 
G. Fontano and S. Maderno, 1612, out of materials taken 
from the Forum of Nerva. It is adorned with six Ionic 
columns of red granite, supporting a pediment bearing an 
inscription surmounted by the arms of Pope Paul Y. 

Between the columns are five niches or arches, two small 
and three very large, from the last fiow three streams of 
water, in the two others are dragons (which form a portion of 
the armorial bearings of Paul Y.,) pouring water from their 
mouths into a great basin. 

“ This water,’’ says Nibbey, “ is the old water of Trajan, 
who brought it into Rome for the use of the inhabi- 
tants of the Trastevere.” The fountain has exchanged 
its heathen name, as we said before, for that of Paul Y. who 
restored and increased it by water from the lake of Bracciano. 
Not long afterwards it was further augmented by water from 
the lake of Martignano. 

Still ascending the Janiculum, you come to the Gate of S. 
Pancratius, from whence Garibaldi in the spring of 1849, 
directed his murderous fire on the French besiegers, who 
made their entrance from this side into the Eternal City by 
the end of the following July. 

On the evening of a hot summer’s day, a number of the 



THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


67 


young girls of the Trastevere were assembled round the 
Pauline Fountain to draw water. 

They seemed to be in no great hurry to finish their work, 
for they were laughing and chatting together. 

Who could make haste in such weather ? The girls were 
amusing themselves by throwing water into each other’s faces ; 
the foremost of them all in this sport was a maiden with dark 
brown eyes which bespoke a strong courageous character. 
She could not have numbered more than fifteen summers, and 
her companions called her Nunziata. 

The older girls, meanwhile, were exchanging the news of 
the day; and chatted together like so many swallows. 

“Have you heard of Pietro Marini?” said the eldest, 
wnose name was Giannina. 

“No, no^ Nina, let us hear,” answered several voices. 

“ You know him well,” began Giannina, “ the good simple 
man. Well, a few days ago his horse died, and he knew 
not how to do without his beast to carry on his trade.” 

“ Oh, yes^ poor man !” answered a young girl called Car- 
lotta , “I remember him well. He is a man who goes about 
in his cart selling sand.” 

“ Poor man ! do you say?” answered Nina, “ but listen a 
little farther. Pietro, as well as his wife, was quite down- 
hearted about the loss, when all at once he stood up and 
struck his head with his fist, and said to his wife, ‘ Truly, 
Maddalena, I am a fool.’ She looked at him with astonish- 
ment. ‘ I tell you I am a fool,’ said Pietro ; ‘ there we have 
the Holy Father; he is our neighbour, and he has horses 
enough. Why should he not give me some old beast if I 
ask him ? Come, give me my best clothes. He is so good, 
people say. I will go and see him at once, and you maybe 
sure I will bring a horse back with me.’ ” 

‘ “ And did he go, indeed ?” asked Ursula, another girl. 


68 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


•‘Did he go, indeed? Pietro went straight to the Vati- 
can ; hut there, as you may easily suppose, he was soon 
stopped. Still, he did not lose courage. ‘ I must speak to 
the Holy Father,’ said he, ‘ I must speak to him myself, and 
on matters of importance.’ Meanwhile a Monsignore came 
by, whose attention was attracted by Pietro’s words and his 
open countenance. 

“ He asked him why he came to the Vatican. ‘I’ll tell 
you,’ he said^ ‘ with all my heart and he told him the whole 
story at once, and how he trusted to the Holy Father to help 
him. ‘Very good,’ said the ecclesiastic, ‘I will carry your 
request to his Holiness and speak for you to the best of my 
power. Come again to-morrow, and I doubt not you will 
receive satisfaction.’ 

“ Pietro did not wait to be told twice, and the next morn- 
ing was at his post full of hope and joy ; and indeed the good 
Pio Nono, touched by the confidence of his neighhor, as 
Peter called himself, sent him a horse out of his stable, and 
a good round sum of money into the bargain. 

“ I leave you to judge whether Pietro was happy or not ; 
he sprang upon the Pontifical horse and rode right round the 
Trastevere in triumph, shouting at the toj) of his voice, 
^Evviva Pio Nono I he has given me a horse out of his own 
stable.’ ” * 

“Indeed,” observed a Trasteverine called Julia, “the 
Holy Father is very good ; especially to poor people. One 
day he was walking beyond the city in company with one of 
his prelates, when he met a good countryman who was going 
along biting a great hunch of bread which he held fast in 
both his hands. ‘ Good day, my son,’ said the Holy Father, 


* This historical fact tools place a few years earlier | the readier will forgive 
Utile anaohroRism* 


tHE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES* 


69 


pleased with the simple appearance of the countryman. He, 
with his mouth full, contented himself with nodding his 
head, and went on his way. Suddenly, at a turn of the road, 
he caught sight of a carriage and a number of people 
waiting. 

“ ‘ That must be the Pope,’ he said to himself, and falling 
on his knees, he called to him : ‘ Hist ! hist ! if you are the 
Holy Father, your blessing ! your blessing !’ 

“ And Pius IX., hearing the good man’s hist, turned and 
blessed him most graciously.” 

While the story was going on, Nunziata had slipped be- 
hind the narrator ; at its close she stooped over the basin, 
filled both her hands with Avater and threw it into Julia’s face, 
crying, with a burst of merry laughter, 

“ And I bless you most graciously.” 

Julia was startled for a moment, but was soon ready to 
return the joke, and threatened to drench her from head to 
foot. 

The rest all clapped their hands at the expected fun, 
when Ursula suddenly exclaimed, 

“ See, see! there’s a Zouave walking with a gentleman; 
see what a fine-looking soldier and how brave he looks.” The 
cry quieted Julia; and Nunziata turned at the same moment 
exclaiming aloud — 

‘‘Long live the Zouaves, our Good Father’s brave de- 
fenders.” 

But no sooner had she cast a glance upon the Zouave and 
his companion, than without speaking another word, without 
taking leave of her companions, or even stopping to take her 
pitcher with her, she set otf at full speed, and soon vanished 
in one of the side streets of the Trastevere. 

The two passers-by Avere Victor and Maso di Roccabianca. 
They came from the direction of the Lune^ara^ and were going 


70 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


towards the gate of S. Pancratius. The girls at the fountain 
remained for a few moments looking after them, and when 
they were out of sight resumed their merry chat. 

“ But,’’ inquired Carlotta, “ where is Nunziata gone in 
such a hurry ? See, she has even left her water-pitcher 
behind her.” 

“ Who knows,” answered Giannina, “ what she has got in 
her head? She is a strange child, that Nunziata; now 
laughing and playing, and in another moment serious, 
thoughtful, and even sad. I do not understand her.” 

“ Strange, indeed,” said Julia. “ She is as good and 
tender-hearted as an angel, and on the other hand as fearless 
and unmanagable — I may say — as a devil. Do you remember 
how, at the last fire in the Trastevere, she rushed into the 
ruins amid the fiames, where even men were afraid to venture, 
and, at the .peril of her life, saved a poor child w’hose parents 
had perished in the fire ? And how she pressed the poor 
little weeping thing to her bosom, with a mother's tender- 
ness?” 

“ Do I remember it?” interrupted Carlotta. “ I saw the 
child with her last Sunday. She has placed it in the Orphan- 
age of the Immaculate Conception, and maintains it at her 
own expense. The poor child calls her mother ; and Nun- 
ziata dances with delight at the sound of the sweet name.” 

At that moment a man passed the Fountain at full speed in 
the direction of the Gate of S. Pancratius. . 

“ See,” said Julia to her companions, “ there goes Stefano, 
Nunziata’s brother. What can he have to do outside Borne, 
that he is going at such a rate? You would think that he 
was running for his life.” 

Meanwhile Victor and his companion had passed the Gate, 
and were proceeding in earnest conversation towards the old 
Yitellian Way. Maso had met the Pontifical Volunteer in 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


71 


the Lungara and shaken hands with him most warmly ; he 
had just arrived from Belgium, he Said, being anxious to visit 
his country once more, whose dearest interests were now so 
deeply at stake. Ho did not say he had been searching Borne 
for two days past, to trace Victor out. 

With a great show of kindness and sympathy^ he gave 
Victor information concerning his country and his friends. 

And whither,’’ asked he, “ are you bound now?” 

“ I had intended to visit the Church oi^S. Pancratius.” 

“ So much the better,” answered Maso. It is a delight- 
ful walk, and I will gladly accompany you. On the way I 
can show you the Vascello, and the Villa Corsini, whence the 
French entered Borne in 1849 ; and meanwhile we can talk 
of everything you would wish to hear of your home.” 

Victor, though he felt very little pleasure in Maso’s com- 
pany, answered in a friendly tone. 

“ And my father?” he asked, after a few minutes, “ how 
is he ?” 

‘•'Well, — very well,” was the answer ; “ but he is incon- 
solable at your departure. See, Victor,” continued Maso, 
after a pause, and with great apparent hesitation, “ he gave 
me a message for you, but I don’t know whether you would 
wish me to deliver it.” 

“ Why not ? speak freely.” 

‘ ‘ Then don’t be angry, but believe that I am actuated only 
by regard for your father and yourself. Your father was at last 
induced to give you a half-permission to enter the Papal service , 
but after your departure he considered the thing more ma- 
turely, and he begged me before I left Belgium, to spare no 
pains to persuade you to give up your intention.” 

The Yuv ! He had not exchanged a single word after Vic- 
tor’s departure with Morren, who went to Schrambeek imme- 
diately afterwards. Victor seemed to have some suspicion of 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


72 

the fact, for he answered — “ Mynheer di Roccahianca, I can * 
hardly believe that my father would recall his pledged word ; ! 
it is out of keeping with his whole character. Moreover, I i 
should render myself unworthy of his esteem were I dishon- j 
orably to break my engagement. No Maso, I shall not flinch \ 
from my duty, nor can my father possibly desire that I ] 
should do so ; therefore, spare yourself the trouble of speak- ’ 
ing further on the subject.’^ ^ 

“ But my good friend,” replied Maso, whose only end was, ; 
if possible, to bring an angel to perdition, or, in case of ^ 
failure, to wreak a diabolical revenge on him in that splitary ; 
place, — “ but my friend, how can you be bound by a decision 
made in haste and without knowledge of the cause you have 
embraced ? for that cause which you have undertaken to de- . 
fend, is, as I have shown you, most unworthy of defence. 
You must know that our enlightened age will no longer 
endure the tyranny which the sceptre of bigotry has too ^ 
long exercised over the ancient city of the free-born 1 
Romans.” : 

‘ ‘ Listen,” said Victor, and the fire of indignation mantled in i 
his cheek ; ‘ ‘ these are things, Maso, of which we cannot speak ; 
together ; these are words which desecrate the hallowed earth . 
on which we tread. The cause which I defend is the cause 
of my conscience, the cause of the whole Catholic world, the 
cause of God.” ! 

“ A glorious cause, forsooth,” answered Maso^ mockingly, r 

‘ ‘ The cause of a superannuated old man — of a few priests ^ 
and monks and bigoted women. But, Victor, what honor 
can you gain by dying for it; what honor even should : 
it prove — as it never will prove — victorious ? Ah ! the 
cause of Italy ! that is a glorious cause ! It is the ; 
cause of a noble people rising mightily to break their fetters ; I 
the one is the cause of slavery, the other of deliverance. | 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


73 


Come with me, Victor ; join the noble bands who on all sides 
are starting from their slumbers to fly to their country’s aid ; 
cast away the idols of your old forefathers ; break the fetters 
of superstition in which your bigoted training has entangled 
you I You have a noble soul — a soul which should glow at 
the sublimity of our mission ! Come, cast away all this 
mummery; hasten with me to join the forces of true Italy!” 

“ Enough,” said Victor, with an authoritative motion of 
his hand; “enough, Roccabianca; I estimate Garibaldi’s 
bands at their true value, and believe me, I account it a griev- 
ous insult — though you, perhaps, mean it not as such — to pro- 
pose to me to join a company of bandits — to ask me to make 
one of a company of freebooters, a horde of barbarous mon- 
sters, is enough to call a burning blush of shame to my face !” 

The carhonaro bit his lip with rage till the blood started. 
For a moment his right hand seemed to clutch at something 
• within his bosom ; but the place was, probably, not lonely 
enough, and with apparent calmness he continued: 

“ Welb Mynheer Morren, do not disturb yourself. It was 
far from my intention to ofiend you. Have I not told you 
that it was simply my regard for you which induced me to 
place before you the folly of your enterprise ?” 

“And as to what you said just now about honor,” said 
Victor, “ do you imagine that it was this vain earthly glory, 
empty and transitory as smoke, which I have set before me 
as my end. Ah ! doubtless more brilliant careers were open 
to me, which would not have claimea from me the ^sacrifice of 
my blood and of my life. No, Maso, for the holy cause for 
which I have taken up arms I have ofiered all ; and if it 
must be so, I would be content to receive what the world 
calls shame and only shame for my guerdon. My faith and 
my conscience — these are the only judges before whose high 
tribunal I submissively bow.” 

7 


74 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


A few moments of silence followed. • 

Victor’s eyes were fixed on the ground, and he seemed to 
be absorbed in deep thought. 

Maso’s brows were knitted together, his eyes shot fire from 
beneath them. 

The stillness of death was around. Not a breath stirred 
the leaves ; not a bird twittered in the branches ; not a 
cricket chirped in the grass. 

It was a fearful stillness, which seemed to forebode some 
approaching evil. 

The two companions had already passed the Villa Corsini 
and Vascello ; they had left the highway, and struck into , a 
little side path. Victor had not observed it. Maso well 
knew why. 

They drew near to a thicket of underwood. Suddenly a 
light breeze stirred the branches, like the shudder of a dying 
man ; it lasted but for a moment, and all was still again. 

‘‘ But think,” resumed Maso, in words which bore a cruel 
double sense ; think again, Victor ; you have nothing but 
defeat and death to expect on the path you have chosen. 
Blind dupe !” continued he contemptuously, ‘ ‘ who have left 
father and fatherland to die in this our country a dishonored 
death for a dishonorable cause.” 

‘ ‘ Maso ! Maso !” cried Victor indignantly, ‘ ^ be silent ; 
you blaspheme God and make my heart bleed with your 
words. And as to the death with which you threaten me, 
know that it has no terrors for me, that I have set it daily 
before me ever since God inspired me with this resolution ; 
that I should receive it as a welcome friend come to bestow 
on me a crown of victory, more glorious than that of any 
earthly triumph. No, no ; I fear not death in the cause of 
God and of God’s Holy Church.” 

Well,” thundered Maso, ‘‘here then is the friend you 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVEg. 


75 


long for ; he will not keep you long waiting, cowardly fool ! 
this is your hour and the hour of my revenge.’^ 

And before Victor had time to place himself in a posture 
of defence, the carbonari s strong arm was cast around him 
like an iron girdle. 

There was surprise, but no fear on the countenance of the 
brave young man ; it was pale but calm, and he raised his 
eyes to Heaven, as if to commend his sacrifice to Grod. 

“ Ah muttered the carbonaro^ “ I have not returned in 
vain to this (to me) accursed place. I have come hither to 
accomplish my revenge. Die, then, coward, and may the 
same lot befall all the enemies of Italy.’’ 

And he raised his dagger above his victim’s head. 

He was suddenly interrupted by a loud cry behind him. 

“ Grennaro I Grennaro !” was heard from some unseen 
mouth. 

A shudder passed over the carbonaro>s frume, and his up- 
lifted arm fell, as if broken, by his side. 

“ Who names my name here,” said he, hoarsely. “ Who 
is there here who knows Gennaro ?” 

And, as if ia answer, there started from the coppice a man 
with flashing eyes like the genius of retribution, and stood 
before him. 

It was Stefano, Nunziata’s brother. 

The carbonaro looked as if a lightening flash had struck 
him. 

“ Stefano !” stammered he, ‘‘ Stefano I you here ? 

“ Ah 1 Gennaro,” was the thrilling answer, you know me 
again? Yes, lam here; and in good time, as you see, to save you 
from a new crime. Gennaro, is that stain of blood which 
cleaves to your hands washed out, that you fear not to soil 
them with a second murder ?” 

Maso, or Gennaro — which we now know to be his real 


76 


THE DOUBLE SACBIFICE ; OR, 


name — seemed to be crushed by the voice of his opponent ; 
he kept his eyes for a time on the ground_, and it was easy to 
see that some secret power restrained the fury that was burn- 
ing in his breast. 

Victor had no sooner been set free from the carhonaro\s 
palsied arm, than he fell upon his knees to thank God fer- 
vently for his wonderful deliverance. He now looked with 
amazement upon the strange scene before him. lie could not 
conceive by what extraordinary chance — if chance it might 
be called — his unknown preserver had appeared so suddenly, 
nor what was the connection between them which gave him 
so extraordinary an influence over the cowardly assassin. 

Stefano, in the meantime, was speaking in a dialect un- 
known to Victor. He spoke earnestly, as was visible in his 
bearing and in his countenance, yet in a suppressed voice, 
as if he feared lest some third person should overhear him. 

Gennaro only muttered a few words in reply, which did 
not seem to be of a nature to calm Stefano’s mood. 

“ Well,” said the latter at last, in pure Italian, “be it so, 
if you will. God knows I have no wish to bring you to 
destruction. But listen to my last words; unless you leave 
Borne immediately, nothing shall longer withhold me ; neither 
the love which I naturally bear you, nor the shame which I 
should inevitably bring upon my family. No, nothing shall 
hinder me from giving you over to the arm of justice. And 
now, Gennaro,” continued he, “ if there is for you neither 
repentance nor forgiveness, then may I have looked upon 
your face for the last time to-day. Your way lies there ; 
farewell !” 

And he pointed with a gesture of command in the direc- 
tion of the Porta Portese. 

He then silently made a sign to Victor to accompany him 
back to the city. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 77 

They walked for a few moments in silence ; when they 
reached the high road, Victor suddenly seized Stefano’s hand 
and kissed it fervently. 

“ Oh ! my noble-hearted deliverer,” said he, “ how can I 
thank you sufficiently ?” 

“ Say nothing about it, friend,” answered Stefano. “I 
have only done my duty, and the thought that I have pre- 
vented the commission of a base murder is in itself a suffi- 
cient reward.” 

“ Be it so,’- answered Victor ; “ but this does not free me 
from a debt of eternal gratitude and friendship. But by 
what extraordinary disposition of Providence were you sent 
just now for my preservation? and, if it be not an indis- 
creet question, how comes my antagonist, who has lived for 
so many years in Belgium, to be so well known to you ?” 

* * It was indeed a disposition of Divine Providence which 
sent me to this spot^ Know then, my friend, (but ask me 
no more than I am about to tell you,) your base antagonist 
is my own brother— a prodigal son who has overwhelmed his 
family with sorrow. You may judge whether I, even in the 
midst of my grief for his wickedness, have reason to account 
myself happy to have saved him from a horrible crime. My 
poor brother ! he was once brave and good ; but evil com* 
panions, and above all, secret societiesj have been his destruc- 
tion. 

“Terrible events, which alas ! have laid a weight of years 
Upon my heart, obliged him to leave his country. We had 
heard nothing of him from that time, and his return to the 
Eternal City was entirely unknown tons, when this very day, 
my sister (Nunziata is her name) saw him pass the Pauline 
Fountain in your company^ Young as she was when he left 
Us, she recognized him at the first glance, for, in the days of 
his innocence, Nunziata was Gennaro’s darling, and years of 
7 * 


78 THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 

crime had not so utterly changed his appearance, but that 
she at once knew the face which was ever before her memory. 
Seeing him in company with a Pontifical Volunteer, anxious 
forebodings filled her heart, and she hastened home at €>nce 
to make known the matter to me. I followed you immedi- 
ately in the direction pointed out by her, hoping to find an 
opportunity of speaking to my brother alone ; but when I 
saw you strike into a side path, and lost sight of you in the 
coppice, a terror seized me of approaching misery ; I forced 
my way through the bushes. You know the rest.’’ 

“Oh, yes!” answered Victor earnestly. “My noble 
friend I I know I owe my preservation to you. Oh I how 
can I repay you? Stefano — let me call you so, as an old 
friend — Stefano, we "will pray together for your erring 
brother ” 

Stefano wept. He felt that he had to do with a true 
Christian ; for the love of enemies is one of the strongest 
characteristics of the followers of the Heart of Jesus. He 
grasped Victor’s hand. 

“ Thanks, thanks,” he said, “for those good words. They 
are a balm to my burning heart.” 

Meanwhile, they approached the city, walking together in 
silence. 

When they reached the Church of San Pietro, in Monto- 
rio, they entered it together, as if inspired by a common 
feeling ; they knelt before the Chapel where the Holy Vir- 
gin, della Letter a, is venerated. Stefano prayed for his 
brother. Victor implored penitence and forgiveness for his 
enemy, and gave thanks to God for his unhoped-for deliver- 
ance. How fervently did both prayers rise to Heaven before 
the miraculous image of the Mother of the Church, in the 
place where the first Pope of Pome received the crown of 
martyrdom. For it is on this very spot, according to tra- 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


79 


dition, that S. Peter was crucified. Could Victor doubt 
that Mary, the especial Protectress of the glorious Pius, and 
Peter, the first Vicar of Christ, had delivered the Holy 
Father’s soldier from the death which threatened him ? 

Meanwhile, Gennaro with hell in his bosom, fled out of 
Rome. He raised his hand on high, uttering blasphemy on 
blasphemy, as if to defy Heaven itself. 

At last he stood still. His eyes flashed fire. 

“Ah!” thundered he, “the coward has escaped me. 
Well, another time he shall not get off so easily. Forward ! 
forward 1 on my accursed path ! Forward 1 forward 1 I shall 
find him yet ! I shall avenge myself before hell claims me !” 

And his hollow laugh echoed through the field like the 
ghastly merriment of a lost soul. 

Then, as if he had suddenly made his determination, he 
hastened forward to the Porta Portese. Suddenly, at a turn 
of the road, a woman stood before him. 

‘ ‘ Gennaro 1” 

“Nunziata!” 

He had recognized his sister by her voice. 

“ Gennaro, have you spoken with Stefano ?” 

“Spoken?” answered he, raging at the sound of his brother’s 
name. Away, Nunziata ; all is over between us. He has 
snatched my revenge from me. He has threatened me with 
imprisonment, death, and shame.” 

Unhappy one,” answered Nunziata, “ I was not mista- 
taken; you had your victim beside you. Gennaro, Gennaro, 
have you stifled the voice of your conscience for ever ? Docs 
his bloody shade — you well know never come to dis- 

turb your rest ?” 

“Away, once more,” cried the carhonaro with increasing 
anger. “ Let me pass, Nunziata, or I will trample on your 


80 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; Ofe, 


She sprang forward like a lioness at hay. 

“ Well,” she cried, with all a Roman’s courage. “Well, 
lift your guilty hand against your sister; hut Gennaro, I 
fear you not. No, I fear you not, and you shall hear me, 
and hear me to the end.” 

“ Out of the way, woman,” thundered he, pushing her 
roughly out of the path, “ and say to Stefano, to him who 
has halked me of my revenge, that I swear an eternal and 
unmitigahle hate against him.” 

Nunziata in the meanwhile had recovered herself. 

“ And to me, also,” she replied, “for it was through me, 
in the first place, that you were balked of your vengeance. 
God knows I came hither to bring you to a better mind ; but 
your heart, brother, is shut against me. Your hour is not 
yet come^ and oh ! will it ever come ?” 

“My hour, the hour of vengeance. Yes,” muttered he, 
as he suddenly broke from her. 

“The hour of grace,” said she with a sigh. “Oh! 
Gennaro, you once loved me so dearly. In the name of our 
old love, take with you the remembrance of my last words. 
Anticipate the hour of justice^ he it huthy a moment.^'* 

He vouchsafed not to listen to her any further. She re- 
turned weeping to the city. 

She had hardly entered the house when Stefano and Victor 
came in. 

“I have spoken to him, but he will hear nothing. Oh, 
God ! Oh, God I is there no hope left for his poor soul ?” 

She now observed Victor. 

“ Pardon,” cried she, falling on her knees before him, 
‘ ‘ pardon 1” 

“Stand up, slgnorina,” said the Zouave, shocked at the 
sight. Do not I owe my safety to your brother ?” 

“ But hef she sobbed, “ Ae too is my brother.’^ 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


81 


“And mine also,” answered the Zouave gently. “An 
erring brother, for whose return we shall all pray together.” 

Nunziata looked at him in amazement ; there was not the 
I slightest cloud, the slightest expression of anger on his coun- 
tenance, nothing was visible there but tender compassion. 

“Signor, you are an angel.” 

“ Very far from it, Signorina Nunziata,” replied Victor 
smiling ; “ and don’t call me Signor, but simply Victor, for 
I want to be a brother to you and Stefano. My duty will 
soon call me from Eome, but I hope soon to return, and to 
be received as a child of the house. Shall it not be so, dear 
Stefano.’^ 

Stefano warmly pressed his hand. Victor had found fast 
friends in this foreign land. 

He kept perfect silence with regard to the circumstances 
which had nearly proved fatal to him, making them known to 
none but Joseph and Martin, who determined to keep a 
strict watch over his safety. 

On the following day Victor received a letter from his 
mother who told him that she had observed a wonderful 
change in his father’s demeanor. He who had formerly lis- 
tened with visible coldness to any tidings of his son, had 
suddenly evinced great eagerness for his last letter. He had 
desired her to write immediately to Victor, and ask for a 
speedy reply, and recommenaed nim strongly to keep clear 
' of Maso if he should meet with him, “for the fellow is 
brewing mischief for my child.” 

Delighted with the good news, Victor lost no time in set- 
ting his parent’s anxiety at rest, and seeing no necessity to 
make known to them the danger which he had but now 
escaped, he simply assured them that Maso had done nothing 
to injure him, for that his plans had come to nought. 

How came the elder Morren to be possessed by so sudden a 


82 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


desire to hear of Victor ? And how came he thus to suspect 
the evil designs of the carhonaro, who had spoken to him of 
his intended departure, and who assuredly would not have 
informed him of the object of his journey to Rome? 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE SPIRIT OF GOOD AND THE SPIRIT OP EVIL. 

HE feudal castle of Schrambeek, with which we 
made acquaintance in the beginning of our story, 
is a venerable monument of the Middle Ages. 
A heavy square buildings defended at each cor- 
ner by a strong tower, is connected by a wing in front with 
a fifth gigantic tower^ which seems to keep continual watch 
to bar all access to the interior of the castle. 

The castle is defended on three sides by a deep moat, and 
surrounded on the fourth by a half-circle of buildings sur- 
mounted by turrets. 

The deep splay of the windows and the narrow loopholes, 
testify, even to an exterior view, the resistance which those 
thick walls could have opposed to any hostile attack. 

The castle had striven for many a century against the 
assaults of the elements, and now bears many and grievous 
tokens of the wounds which it has received from the destruc- 
tive hand of time. The weather-cocks are rusted on the tur- 
rets, the gates broken, the walls split by the incessant drop- 
ping of water, and weeds sown by many a wind have taken 
root on the battlements. 

A part of the old castle lies already in ruins, and time is 
surely, but slowly, doing its work on the rest. 



THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


83 


Yet how striking is the half-fallen castle in its picturesque 
decay ! 

How impressive is the sight of this long-enduring witness 
of the life of our forefathers ! 

0, how often in my youth, when I used to come to spend 
some time in Schrambeek, have I dreamed away hour after hour 
— gazing upon those grey walls, and calling to life once more 
the old warriors who once dwelt there ! How eagerly did I 
turn over every book that fell in my way, how closely did I 
question every villager of Schrambeek to discover everything 
that was to be known about the old place ! and the books told 
me the history of the castle, which, however, has nothing to 
do with the purport of my tale. And the villagers told me 
the traditions of their forefathers, and here and there one 
of the simplest among them would perhaps hint that the cas- 
tle was haunted ; but where is the ruin of which the like 
may not be said ? 

A few days before the events related in our last chapter, 
the elder Morren, with his friend Ernest Yan Dormael, were 
taking a walk over the hills to the north-west of Schrambeek. 
Ernest had come on the previous evening to visit Morren at 
his country-house, or rather, with the fiendish design to lay a 
snare for the philosopher, which might draw him deeper 
down into the gulf of unbelief. 

Yet having been unable hitherto to see Mynheer Morren 
alone, he had no opportunity of carrying out his plan. 

He had, therefore, proposed a walk to the castle on pre- 
text of visiting the ruins, but in reality to secure a private 
interview with his host. 

Their way lay by the TroostJcapel. 

Teresa was there, praying fervently. 

“Ah, Teresa!” said Morren, who knew her well and 
often gave her an alms, fCr he was a kind-hearted man. 


84 


THE DOUBLE SACIUFICE ; OR, 


“All, Teresa, there you are, always at your prayers! It 
seems to me that you never do anything else but pray.’’ 

Teresa stood up and leant upon her crutch. 

“ Ah I” what should an old cripple like me have better to 
do ?” she asked. 

And, without giving him time to answer — 

“Do you know,” continued she, “for whom I was pray- 
ing ?” 

‘ ‘ How should I know ?” 

“Well, lam going to tell you. I was praying for our 
children at Eome ; for your Victor, Mynheer, for Joseph and 
Martin.” 

“Bah! as for Martin,” answered Morren, “he has not 
much to thank you for. Did you not send him away your- 
self?” 

“ Do you think,” answered Teresa, “ that I have not the 
heart of a mother ? Ah ! Mynheer, poor people love their 
children as well, and sometimes better than the rich. Do 
you think that the thought of my absent child never troubles 
me, that I have no anxious fears about the lot which perhaps 
awaits him ?” 

“ Foolish woman !” interrupted Ernest scornfully, “whom 
have you to thank for it but yourself? Have I not just heard 
that you sent him on this expedition yourself ? Why did 
you not keep the young man at home ? then you might have 
spared yourself the trouble of all the fruitless prayers that 
you are saying here.” 

Teresa looked at the scoffer with a piercing eye. 

“ Are you a Christian ?” asked she. “ Your words dono^ 
sound as if you were.” 

“ Very possibly not,” answered Ernest contemptuously. 

“ Then you will not understand me. Still I will tell you 
why I did not keep my boy at home ; because,” continued 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


85 


she slowly, “I am not a mother only but a Christian also. 
Moreover, I was a Christian before I was a mother, and 
because the Father of all Christians, and with him the reli- 
gion of all Christians, is threatened, should I at such a time 
of danger shrink from my duty and keep the child of my 
love at home ? If I did, could not God as a punishment for 
my faithlessness snatch my son even from my side ? Can 
He not, as the reward of duty fulfilled, preserve him even in 
the midst of the enemy’s bullets 

Mynheer Morren was astonished ; he had never heard the 
beggar so eloquent. 

A mocking smile played on Ernest’s lip. 

** God ! God!” said he, “that is the word by which you 
always explain everything. But where is God ? Have you 
ever seen him ?” 

“ As if we were to believe nothing but what we have 
seen 1 I have never seen you before. Mynheer,” said Teresa 
laughings “ and so you have never been. To see God,” she 
continued, “ is impossible to our eyes, yet everything around 
me tells me that He is.^^ 

“ Come, come,” muttered Ernest, driven off the field by 
the beggar woman’s biting remarks, “what is the use of 
talking to this stupid old woman? There is no God, and that 
is the end of the matter.” 

“No; that is not the end of the matter,” Teresa cried 
after him. ‘ ‘ Be well assured. Mynheer, an hour will come 
when you will desire with all your heart to believe in God. 
Will He then give you grace to do so ? I fear not.” 

Ernest bit his lip with rage. This was the second time 
that the inevitable hour of death had been brought before 
him as an hour of confusion and despair to the proud free- 
thinker. 

He seemed not to be yet at the end of the misfortunes 

8 


86 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


which beset his stay at Schrambeek, for at that moment a 
messenger came to summon Mynheer Morren upon pressing 
business. 

The free-thinker’s plan was set aside, but he determined to 
continue his walk round the castle, in the hope that he might 
find an opportunity later in the day of carrying it out. 

He was now close to the castle, and as the gate stood open 
and he knew that it* was unoccupied, he entered it without 
ceremony. 

He went through several rooms, until at last he found a 
winding stair in one of the towers, still uninjured, which 
brought him to a second floor. 

Having looked around him for some time, he was about to 
descend by another stair, when he found himself in complete 
darkness. The ground ‘broke suddenly under his feet, he 
rolled down, remained for a moment hanging over a vault, 
which broke under the weight of his body, and he fell on 
the soft ground at the bottom of a dark pit. 

He was only a little stunned, and soon recovered his con- 
sciousness, but his position was anything but pleasant. 

He caught a glimpse of a faint light, high, very high, 
above his head ; he felt the walls of his dungeon round and 
round — there was no stair, no door, nothing which offered 
him a means of escape. 

Had he found his grave here already ? Had that awful 
hour which had been just now foretold to him already come ? 

The miserable wretch entirely lost his ^presence of mind ; 
he never reflected that Mynheer Morren was sure before long 
to come in search of him, and saw nothing before him but 
impending death. 

The cold sweat stood on his face, and he paced round and 
round his dungeon, howling like a wild beast. 

Suddenly he thought he heard a slight noise at the top of 
the wall. He listened. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


87 


Who is there, within cried a voice through the crevice 
of the wall. 

“ Oh, save me! save me!’’ cried the wretched man, re- 
covering a gleam of hope at the sound of a human voice. 

* ‘ Who are you 

“A stranger visiting the castle, who has fallen into this 
hole.’’ 

Teresa, for it was her voice, as she passed by had heard 
the howling of the prisoner. 

She smiled as a thought crossed her mind. 

‘‘ Ah !” cried she, “ this is the hour I told you of — the 
hour of God’s vengeance.” 

“Oh, no!” he screamed; “don’t say that. Help me 
out, cost what it may. I will reward you. I will give you 
much gold.” 

“Bah !” said Teresa, “ what do I want with gold ?” 

“ Much gold,” he repeated again. 

“Do you believe now,” said the beggar, “ that there is a 
God?” 

“ Help, help,” cried he from within. 

“ I will not help you, and nobody will help you, for every- 
body in the village believes that this tower is haunted ; nobody 
will dare to come near you.” 

The free-thinker began to howl again. 

Teresa could hardly help laughing. 

“ Do you believe now that there is a God ?” 

“ Save me 1 save me 1” cried he, out of the pit. 

‘ ‘ I will not save you unless you acknowledge that there is 
a God. Very good, you will not. Farewell, then, I go and 
leave you alone with his avenging arm.” 

“ Wretched woman,” muttered the free-thinker. “ Well, 
yes,” screeched he, “ there is a God.” 

“Very good. Now I will get some one to help you. Wait 

a moment. 


88 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


And she ran into the garden beside the castle. 

“ Farmer Nelis,’’ said she, laughing, “there is a rat in 
the well ; a poor wretch in the ‘ Spectre’s Tower.’ Come and 
help him out.” 

“In the Spectre’s Tower!” said Nclis in a fright. “T 
am not going there.” 

“Nonsense,” said Teresa, “with your superstition. 
You’re no child, now, and I assure you it is a living man 
that has fallen in. Would you leave him to die, for fear of 
spectres which only exist in your own fancy ?” 

With great difficulty she persuaded the good man to follow 
her. 

They soon reached the dungeon which had received so 
unexpected a guest. 

Teresa, better acquainted than Nelis with the different 
parts of the castle, carefully made an opening in the vault 
beside the staircase by which the free-thinker had descended. 

It seemed as if a weight had been removed from his breast; 
he breathed more freely. 

The beggar threw him a rope. 

“Fasten this well round your waist,” said she. “ Now, 
Nelis, draw it up, but carefully, for the vault is ruinous. 
One, two, three. Very good. Here he is.” 

Yan Dormael was saved ; yet being once saved he was 
furious against his deliverer. Had not that peasant woman 
won a most shameful victory over him, the proud free-thinker, 
and forced him to do homage to God, though only with his 
lips ? 

He flung her a few gold pieces. 

* The beggar rejected them with contempt. 

Keep your gold. Mynheer,” said she, scornfully, “but 
henceforth carry not your blasphemies so far, for you see the 
fear of 4eath can make you change your tone. Nelis, be so 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


89 


good as to bring Mynheer to harbor, for my company may 
be not agreeable to him.” 

And she hobbled on with her crutch. 

The free-thinker had not found his stay at Schrambeek very 
pleasant, and was glad to find himself on the same day in 
Morren’s company on the way to the railroad. 

He had determined now to carry out his plan. 

“ My dear friend,” he began, as soon as they were out of 
the village, “I have hitherto had no opportunity of making 
known to you the principal object of my journey.” 

Morren said with some surprise : 

The principal object of your journey ? Had you any 
other than a visit of pleasure, Ernest ?” 

“ Assuredly,” he replied. “ I came to prove my friend- 
ship and regard for you. You know, my good friend, that a 
number of your most intimate friends are members of the 
powerful society of Freemasons. Well, it is known that you 
have given your son permission to enter the Pope’s service. 
Allow me to tell you^ my friend, that this has done you harm 
in the estimation of your old companions. You are suspected 
of being no longer firm in your principles.” 

“ But, Ernest, do they not see that it is the very strength 
of my principles which has obliged me to leave Victor free 
to follow his own ?” 

“Welland good,” replied Van Dormael, “ if you had only 
allowed him liberty, but they will have it that you sympathize 
in his undertaking. This weakness (so I will call it) bears 
amongst your friends the name of cowardice, and they cannot 
forgive you for appearing to take part in the defence of the 
Papacy.” 

“Far from it,” interrupted Morren, “and it is fals"^. 
Ernest, to say that I have approved Victor’s resolve. I have 
pimply left him to exercise his free choice,” 


90 


I'ltE DOUBLE sacrifice; OR, 


‘‘ Be it so/’ answered his companion, ‘"'and I am personally 
convinced that you have in no respect altered your opinions, 
but our friends think otherwise, I will deal openly with you. 
Some members of the society,' who do not view you with a 
very friendly eye, because you refuse to join us, have repre- 
sented the matter in the darkest colors. They have described 
you as wavering in your convictions and on the way back to 
the bigotry of your youth, and have brought Victor’s case 
forward in confirmation of their conviction.” 

“But all this is nothing to the purpose, as I have told you 
before,” answered Morren sharply. 

“No, my friend; I know it,” answered Van Dormael. 
“I said so myself at the ‘Lodge,’ but what can one do? 
They think otherwise. Let us come to the point, however. 
This is what I have to propose to you: Your honor and 
interest require that you should give a public contradiction to 
this slander. I have come, therefore, to advise and beseech 
you to join the society of Freemasons. You will thus show 
that you are the same bold, undaunted thinker as ever ; you 
will shut the mouth of slander, and regain the confidence of 
your old friends.” 

Ernest, answered Morren calmly, ‘ ‘ I thank you for your 
advice, for I am sure it is prompted by friendship, but I can* 
not follow it. You know what I have often said to you ; 
being an undaunted tliinlcer, as you call me, I cannot place 
my reason under the bondage of Freemasonry any more than 
in the leading-strings of faith. It is true there are among 
the Freemasons some whom I account my friends, and as I 
allow my wife freely to follow her convictions, so do I respect 
their principles ; yet I cannot adopt them myself. They 
have shaken oiBP the yoke of the Church to place themselves 
under a new bondage.” 

“ By no mean*^/’ interrunted the Freemason, 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


91 


“Do not interrupt me/’ continued Morren; “you well 
know that your society is not unknown to me. Is, then, the 
oath by which you bind yourselves no bondage ? Is the pun- 
ishment of him who breaks the oath no bondage ? And then 
the secrecy in which you shroud yourselves can never com- 
mend itself to me — a secrecy in which you strike in the 
dark. Why does not every Freemason proclaim his convic- 
tions openly, as I do mine ?” 

Yan Dormael was by no means pleased, and there was 
something of bitterness in his tone when he answered : 

“ Supposing all this were true, which is far from the case, 
your honor requires that you should take this step.” 

“ Bah ! My honor, my conduct shall show plainly enough 
that I am not changed — that I remain still true to myself.” 

“ I fear that will hardly be believed. Moreover, you well 
know that the bondage of which you speak is very different 
from that of the Church. You will be left at full liberty.” 

“It is impossible,” replied Morren coldly. 

“ But think of your own interest, Morren,” said Ernest. 
“You love your son, I am very sure. Well, your entrance 
into our society may protect him from many dangers.” 

“From the bullets and cannon balls on the battle-field, 
doubtless ?” asked Morren scornfully. 

“From the dagger, at least, of the secret society,” an- 
swered Ernest; “a weapon, Mynheer Morren, far more 
formidable than the other.” 

Morren, as if lost in thought, remained for a few moments 
without making any reply. 

The Freemason doubted not that his last argument had 
made an impression on the father’s heart. He had reserved 
it to the last, for now they were very near to the railroad. 

“ And you think,” asked Morren, “ that your word would 
be powerful enough to protect Victor from your friends in 
Italy?” 


92 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


^‘Doubtless,’’ was the answer. 

Van Dormael stood still for a moment, and whispered into 
Morren’s ear, “ a secret has been entrusted to me which my 
friendship compels me to impart to you. Listen, Maso — 
deeply wounded in his love for his country — has gone to 
Italy with the full purpose to stab Victor to the heart. 
There is but one power which can turn him aside from h’s 
purpose ; that power is ours. There is but one means left to 
fetter Maso’s avenging arm, and that is to join the society of 
Freemasons. Send in your adhesion through me, and your 
son is saved.” 

“ You are certain,” asked Morren doubtfully, “ that Maso 
would obey the mandate of the Lodge ?” 

“Perfectly certain,” answered Ernest, who flattered him- 
self he saw a ray of hope. 

Mynheer Morren gazed silently on the ground ; a painful 
conflict was visible on his face. It was the conflict between 
paternal love and conviction. 

Yet that conviction rested not on Faith ; that paternal love 
was not regulated by the law of God. Poor Morren ! will 
you fail under the trial? Will you suffer yourself to be 
dragged further down into the gulf of perdition in the hope 
at least to save your son ? 

Oh ! Heaven forbid 1 for Victor’s sacrifice is too holy to be 
the means of causing his father a deeper fall. The grace 
and the power to withstand the temptation, of which the free- 
thinker is unworthy, perhaps will be granted him for the 
virtue of his son. 

Was it on this account that Morren suddenly raised his . 
head, as if his resolution were made ? 

“ I cannot,” answered he, in a determined tone. 

“ You will not?” answered Ernest. “ Know, then, that 
you have spoken your son’s doom. J can do nothing to help 


d:HE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


93 


‘‘ But I shall be able to help him/’ said Morren, hopefully. 
“ I will write immediately and warn Victor to avoid Maso, 
for that the villain is lying in wait for his life.” 

Ernest turned pale with anger, for he saw that his revela- 
tion had overturned his own plans, and might perhaps defeat 
Maso’s vengeance. But he controlled his wrath, for, on 
account of many debts with which he was loaded, and for other 
reasons, there was nothing he feared so much as to break 
with Morren. 

He ventured upon a last word when he reached the station. 

“ Write,” said he ; you will be too late. We alone in 
our secret communications have the means to reach Maso time 
enough to stay his hand. And if Victor should now escape, 
it would be but a respite, for the carhonard’s dagger strikes 
home inevitably, and spite of all precaution. Once more, 
my friend,” said the hypocrite, “ I beseech you give me your 
word, or all my love will be powerless to help you.” 

Mynheer Morren wrung his hands irresolutely for a 
moment, and then he raised his eyes to Heaven. Was it a 
prayer ? Who knows ? But he answered — 

^‘Impossible, Ernest, impossible; this is my last word. 
And if I can do nothing for my poor child, then may God 
watch over him.” 

Indeed, as we have already seen, the Lord had watched 
over Pio Nono’s soldier ; but Mynheer Morren wondered 
himself at the words which had escaped his lips, and, as if 
they had possessed a secret power to strengthen him, he felt 
a calmness in his spirit for which he could not have himself 
accounted. If he had possessed the light of Faith he would 
have known that this feeling is called the working of grace. 

Meanwhile, Ernest, left alone with his bitterness of heart, 
sped homeward on the railway, and Morren returned towards 
Schrambeek 


94 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


He went over in liis mind all which hard just happened — 
the proposal of Ernest, the arguments of his friend, the 
danger of his son, passed successively in terrible array through 
his brain, till he lost the tranquility of mind which for a 
moment he had enjoyed ; his proud reason, which men had 
endeavored to enslave, and the fatherly love which bade him 
use the only means in his power to save Victor, were carry- 
ing on a terrible conflict in his heart. The strife was fear- 
ful; yet, amid all the anguish which distracted him, he seemed 
to hear a secret voice bidding him hope, and when he reached 
the village he was again tolerably calm. 

Still sunk in thought he opened the gate of his sister-in- 
law, Mevrouw Van Hael. 

There was no one in the garden, but in the summer-house 
he found Mary’s embroidery, and beside it a book which he 
mechanically opened. It was the Imitation of Christ.” 

He turned over the leaves unconsciously, when his eye fell 
upon the following passages : 

“ Lay it not to heart who is for thee or against thee, but 
take heed that God be with thee in everything thou dost. 

‘ ‘ Have a good conscience and God shall protect thee. 

‘ ‘ He whom God will help can no man’s wickedness 
hinder. 

‘ ‘ If thou canst suffer and be silent thou shalt undoubtedly 
receive help from God. 

“ He knows the time and the way to help thee, therefore 
leave it all to Him. 

“ It is God’s work to help thee and to deliver thee from all 
adversity.” 

Mynheer Morren read the whole section attentively. lYhat 
a wonderful teaching was this ; so tranq.uilizing and so hope- 
ful that it infused confidence even into his heart, in spite of 
his unbelief. What a wonderful philosophy, so sublime in 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


95 


its simplicity, and by the side of which all his own systems 
seemed like idle dreams. The free-thinker could not explain 
it to himself, and yet he had learnt that philosophy long ago, 
but sophistry had effaced it from his understanding. 

Indeed, he no longer knew, although ho could well guess, 
that it was the teaching of Christianity — the teaching which 
had once been his own. Then he felt a certain desire to love 
it once more because it had shed comfort upon his sorrowful 
heart, and his heart was not altogether hardened. 

Yet the philosopher was not yet converted. His under- 
standing was still enveloped with thick clouds, and his reason 
was yet too proud to deny to that darkness the name of light 
which he had so long bestowed on it. 

While Mynheer Morren was still deep in thought Mary had 
come into the summer-house unperceived. 

‘‘Ah! dear uncle, said she, laughing, “you want to 
frighten me by stealing in like a thief so secretly and 
silently.” 

“ You are not sorry to see me, I hope,” answered Morren 
kindly. 

He had always had an especial affection for Mary ; she 
was so simple and so affectionate, and moreover, while yet a 
believer, he had been her sponsor at the font. 

“ But w^hat is the matter?” said Mary, when she had come 
close to him ; “ you seem so pale, dear uncle ; has anything 
happened to trouble you ?” 

“ Oh! no,” said he gently, “ I am only somewhat tired 
and weary. Mary,” continued he after a short pause, “ Do 
you not feel uneasy about our poor Zouaves at Borne ?” 

The unexpected question surprised her. She knew that 
Morren would hardly ever hear a word about his son, and he 
now opened the subject himself. 

“ I do indeed,” said she,.“ and sometimes I make mys^h’ 


96 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


miserable by thinking over the dangers to which they are 
exposed. Yet, dear uncle, I let my imagination rest as little 
as possible upon the thought. In my anxiety I turn to the 
Lord, and I ask Him to protect Ilis own soldiers with His 
mighty arm. Prayer gives me strength and comfort.’’ 

So that you really think,” asked Morren, “that your 
prayer can help them ?” 

‘ ‘ x\ssuredly, uncle ; is it not God’s work to help and to 
deliver, and whose wickedness can hinder him whom God will 
help?” 

Mynheer Morren stood amazed. Mary spoke the very same 
words which he had just read, and her countenance showed 
plainly enough their tranquilizing power. That wonderful 
teaching was therefore in reality what it was in appearance. 

“ How happy you arc, Mary,” sighed he, “ that you can 
believe so confidently.” 

Again he was amazed at the words which had escaped him, 
and^ as if to protest against being overcome, he added — 

‘ ‘ The misfortune is that all this Faith is mere fancy while 
the world is governed by blind chance.” 

‘ ‘ Blind chance ?” answered Mary, who saw plainly that 
her words had made an impression, “ you do not mean that. 
If the whole universe, in its unity and beauty, were the 
Vvork of chance, it would be an incredible miracle, far more 
incomprehensible than its creation by the Almighty. But if 
the origin of all things cannot be the work of chance, neither 
can their preservation and direction. No, dearest uncle, I 
am very sure that you are too learned to believe that all these 
things depend upon chance.” 

“ Well, well/’ said Morren, half smiling, “I knew very 
well that my niece is as wise as she is good, yet I did not 
expect so much logic from her. One would suppose you had 
•studied philosophy. Doubtless,” added he, pointing to the 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


97 


‘ Imitation of Christ,’ ‘ ‘ you have learnt your system out 
of this hook 

Mary paused a moment before she answered ; she 
breathed a prayer to Clod to direct her reply, and then she 
said — 

That precious book assuredly contains these and many 
other consoling truths ; yet I need not go so far to find them. 
Do we not read daily in Our Father, ‘ Thy will be done on 
earth as it is in Heaven,’ and ‘ Deliver us from evil.’ 
Ah ! dear uncle,” continued she, I am perhaps too bold, 
but pardon my love, I have a petition to make to you which I 
hope you will not refuse to your Grodchild.” 

‘ ‘ And what is the petition?” asked Morren, with some 
curiosity. “ If it be within my power, be assured that I will 
grant it.” 

Oh^ it is but a trifle,” said she with a smile. It is only 
that you will say every day an Our Father and a Hail Mary 
for my intention, and for the safety of our Pontifical Yolun- 
teers.” 

Morren’ s countenance darkened. 

‘‘'Impossible,” answered he ; “ it is superstition.” 

“ It is not impossible, uncle, it is not superstition, and you 
have given me your word. You would not have it to be 
believed that you are afraid of the magic of a prayer !” 

“ Nonsense !” said Morren, laughing ; “ what harm could 
the prayer do me ?” 

“ Well,” answered she, why then should you refuse?” 

“ Well, well, then, little witch,” answered he, half impa- 
tiently and half laughing ; how can I refuse you? Well, 
then, I will do it.” 

“ Upon your word of honor ?” 

‘ ‘ Upon my word of honor.” 

Mary directed another look of thankfulness to Heaven. 

9 


98 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


When Morren that evening looked back upon the occur- 
rences of the day, he felt a peace long unknown to him. Painful 
anxiety, on account of the danger to which Victor was ex- 
posed, ever and anon pierced his heart ; yet he heard still the 
soothing voice of that wonderful book — “ Whom Grod will 
help can no man’s wickedness hinder.” 

Two spirits had striven that day for the possession of the 
philosopher’s heart — the spirit of good and the spirit of evil ; 
the latter had not, assuredly, gained the victory, but the free- 
thinker was not yet converted. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE CAMP. 

was a glorious sight to see in 1860 a multitude 
of brave youths from Belgium, France, and 
other lands, hastening to Rome in the hour of 
danger, to the defence of a feeble old man who 
wields no weapons but his blessing and his prayers, and who 
yet beheld with a calm and steadfast eye the threatening ap- 
proach of the monster of revolution, and, resting upon the 
might of a kingdom not of this world, flinched not as it 
pressed nearer and nearer to his ancient throne. 

It was a glorious sight, and it is to be seen even at this 
moment. 

The ranks of the Pontifical Zouaves are swelling day by 
day ; not a week passes without tidings of a new reinforce- 
ment. And amidst all those brave hearts, how many have 
bid farewell to a home of earthly happiness, how many have 
sacrificed the brightest prospects of life, have torn themselves 
from the arms of parents or sisters, or have said farewell to 
betrothed maiden or long-wedded wife ? 



TUE PONTIFICAL ZOUATES. 


99 


The revolution may shed their blood on the battle-field, 
the murderous dagger of the secret society may strike them in 
the dark, but the ranks of Christian chivalry arc filled up as 
each champion falls, and the blood of the Papal Volunteers, 
like the blood of the first martyrs, is the seed of new soldiers 
of Christ. 

The history of our days will be a remarkable and a glori- 
ous one. Side by side with the blackest ingratitude of de- 
generate Christians, with the most disgraceful weakness of 
fainthearted princes, with the vilest wickedness of godless 
spoilers, the fervent love of the true sons of the Church, 
their heroic courage, and sublime self-devotion will shine 
forth on the page of history. 

Yet how many evil deeds and how many heroic actions 
will remain hidden from the eyes of men until the day when 
the book of God’s remembrance shall be opened ? 

For it is but a small portion of men’s good or evil deeds 
which is written down for posterity. 

But the God of Hosts, whose unerring eye rests contin- 
ually upon His creatures, and marks with especial love the 
sufferings of His Church and of her Head, counts every deed 
of virtue or of crime to requite them at his appointed hour, 
and the little that is known to us of both is a token to us of 
what his secret book contains. 

A few weeks have elapsed since the occurrences in our last 
chapter. 

Victor and his companions, after a last visit to Stefano and 
his sister, have left the Eternal City and have been for some 
time at the camp near Terni and Collcscipoli. 

The young men had devoted themselves with great zeal i j 
learning the practice of the art of war, and endured, with a 
joyful spirit, all the hardships inseparable from the rough life 
of a camp. 


100 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


It was all child’s play to Martin, whose gigantic frame had 
been reared in a school of privation, as his hearty laugh be- 
tokened after a day of exceeding fatigue ; but his brightness 
and cheerfulness did not exceed that of Joseph and Victor, 
who had been brought up in the lap of prosperity. 

They made their friends at Schrambeek, as far as possible, 
acquainted with the life they were leading, and it was often 
a real recreation to them in the evening, after a day of hard 
labor, to spend a few minutes in simple and affectionate inter- 
course with their dear neighbors at home. 

The villagers at Schrambeek, on their side, were always 
eager for news of the Zouaves. 

Peerjan, the old Picquet, regularly inquired of Mary after 
Mass if she had heard any new tidings of them, and passed 
on whatever he gathered to his usual audience. 

Sus, the smith, who was but half satisfied with Peerjan’s 
abridgments, at last suggested the idea of asking Mary for any 
of Joseph’s letters which might contain nothing private. 

Peerjan had at first objected, but the idea suggested by the 
smith had excited his own curiosity, so that at last one morn- 
ing after Mass he summoned courage— amid a flow of ‘ ‘ That’s 
to say,” and “That^s the thing,” his usual phrases, — to pre- 
fer the request to Joseph’s sister. 

She made no difficulty and placed several letters in his hands, 
and the following Sunday, after the High Mass, Peerjan ac- 
costed a number of the people of Schrambeek with the wel- 
come intelligence. “ Halt ! great news from the Zouaves,” 
while he triumphantly held out a roll of letters. 

The smith immediately took his place beside him. 

“ Bravo, Peerjan ! Did I not give you good advice ?” 

Peerjan, as if absorbed in his great work, made no 
answer, but took his spectacles out of his pocket, wiped his 
glasses with his coat-sleeve, placed the important instrument 
tipon his nose, and unfolded the first sheet. 


iHE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


101 


‘‘ Look here,’’ said he, “ Joseph gives a short account of 
their march to the camp 

“ I shall not say much about our march to Terni. 'We 
left Rome in the night and halted at daybreak. One, two, 
three, wood and water are ready, the fire lighted and the 
coffee clear. Every one takes out his basin ; the breakfast 
is soon finished, and we on our way again, with bag and 
baggage. The atmosphere is intensely hot ; the perspiration 
bursts from every pore ; we are all covered with dust ; our 
feet swell ; our tongues cleave to our palate ; but w'hat does 
it signify ? All the pleasanter does the captain’s voice sound 
in our ears when it cries ‘ Halt !’ in some shady place.” 

“ Well done,” interrupted the carpenter. They are true 
soldiers, and no mistake.” 

And then,” the Picquet read on, “ We have music ; the 
clarion sounds, and that gives us no little encouragement. 
And when the music stops, then we begin to sing on the 
march till the air rings again in Flemish as well as in French, 
for we had many Flemings with us on the march to Terni. 

‘ ‘ Once (it was on the evening of the first day, when we 
were approaching Civita-Castellana) we were all tired to 
death, so that our merriment was for a time hushed. But 
Martin, who is no friend to sadness, and does not know what 
fatigue means, suddenly burst forth in a tremendous voice 
with the ‘ Klass en troiivot zijn leven met.’ Our whole com- 
pany burst out laughing, and all our Flemish comrades 
joined heartily in the chorus. 

‘ ‘ But the song which we sing with greatest spirit is our 
Belgian patriotic song. Victor, who sometimes finds rhymes in 
his pocket, has turned it into a fort of Brahangonne, if I may 
so call it, and our dear country’s song rings daily through the 
Italian sky. These are the words, and I doubt not our friends 
will, in remembrance of us, often sing it in our fatherland. 
9 * 


102 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


“FOE PETEE’S CHAIE. 

SONG OP THE BELGIAN PONTIFICAL VOLUNTEERS. 

“ For Peter’s Chair we face the hour of danger, 

For Peter’s Chair our swelling hearts beat high, 

In Pius’ cause we’ll quell the faithless stranger, 

For Pius’ cause full gladly will we die. 

To arms ! to arms ! the fetters burst asunder. 

Which unbelief has forged with impious hand. 
Belgians, to arms 1 through all the land in thunder 

Peals your old watchword, ‘ Faith and Fatherland.’ 

‘ For Faith and Fatherland’ — that watchword crying. 
Each Belgian true unsheathes his trusty sword ; 
That Fatherland at rest and peace is lying. 

Needs not his aid, but claims it for his Lord. 
Against the Cross, of Jesus’ love the token. 

Rage thousand foes with armed and impious hand. 
To^rms ! your watchword bo in thunder spoken. 

For Faith and Pius leave your Fatherland. 

To arms ! to arms ! each fearless heart is flying, 
Prepared alike for victory or for death. 

No victor’s wreath, perchance, shall crotvn the dying. 
Yet Holy Church receives his parting breath. 
Though unbelief displays her flag infernal. 

And triumph’s loudly in her evil mood, 

Faith shall achieve her victory eternal. 

Though at the cost of our hearts’ dearest blood. 

No Belgian heart shall at the death-shot quiver. 

The flashing steel appal no Belgian eye j 
Firm at our post, to die or to deliver, 

Boldly we fling the bannered Cross on high. 

Then forward ! forward ! ever onward pressing, 

Who fights for God must triumph e’en in death. 

And if we fall, then shall his Vicar’s blessing— 

Pledge of his own — hallow cur latest breath. 

‘ ‘ 0, Lord of Hosts, Almighty and all loving. 

Who still dost watch Thy children from on high, 
Firm at Thy Cross we’ll take our stand unmoving, 

Till dawns our Father’s hour of victory- 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


103 


If to our blood that victory be given, 

Right thankfully and gladly will we die, 

So by our death Thy Church’s chains be riven, 

‘ For Peter’s Chair,’ shall be our latest cry.” 

“ Well done P’ said Wouter, the carpenter, ‘‘ and will that 
song go to the tune of the Brahangonne V* 

“'Certainly,’’ answered the landlord of the “ Cross Bow B 
“ Didn’t you understand what Peerjan said? It is a Papal 
Brahangonne. Eh ! Peerjan ?” 

“ That’s the thing,” answered the old Picquet. “What 
do you think, good people ? Shall we learn to sing it, to 
the accompaniment of the hand ? Shall we practise it ?” 

“ Yes, yes ! certainly,” cried they all. “We will write 
it out to-day.” 

“ Come on,” said the smith, “ wc’ll begin at once.” 

“ That’s to say,” growled Peerjan, “ you would like to 
hear the rest first, I suppose? Listen,” and he unfolded 
another letter, “ Listen to what Joseph says of the life in 
the camp.” 

“ Our camp lies at a short distance from Terni, the head- 
quarters of the army. We sleep under tents, and our first 
employment after our arrival was to learn to pitch them. 
Having accomplished this point, we now spend our time in 
other occupations. After the drill, the rest of the day is 
employed in carrying wood, purchasing victuals, and carry- 
ing water. The last, especially, keeps us fully employed, 
for you must know we have to bring it from a great distance ; 
we have to fetch it from Collescipoli, a village which stands 
on a high hill at about three miles distance from our camp. 
We bring the water in great buckets, but Martin finds them 
too small for his great shoulders. 

“ ‘ Have you nothing else to give me?’ asked he, laugh- 
ing, ‘ but these half-pints, which carry nothing ?’ 


104 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


“ And our captain gave him a pail as big as a boat, and 
it is great fun to see how our companions flock around him 
on his return, so thirsty are they for the wealth he carries. 

‘ ‘ Then follows the cleaning of our belts and polishing of 
our arms, and a thousand other little occupations of camp 
life, and you will see that our day is well fllled up, and we 
have no reason to fear for lack of occupation. 

‘ ‘ And yeb notwithstanding our long and fatiguing mili- 
tary exercise, and all the labor of the soldier’s daily work, we 
have never been so happy, never so contented as now. We 
would not change our rough camp life for all the pleasures of 
the great world. Are we not laboring and suffering for the 
Church of Christ ? and is not that one thought enough to 
make all privation light and all suffering sweet ? 

‘ ‘ Oh ! what cannot man do when he works for Gfod and 
with God ! The Pontifical Volunteers are for the most part 
children of good houses, brought up in prosperity, tender 
plants which might be expected to bend before the slightest 
breath. After a long drill, after leaping, springing, climb- 
ing, for six or seven hours under a burning sky, they return 
to the camp tired out, covered with dust and perspiration, 
with open mouth, swollen eyes, burning lips, laboring breath ; 
yet after a short sleep, a few moments’ rest, in less than half 
an hour they are full again of life and spirits. 

“I think sometimes that it is just like a wood after a 
storm — the lightning flashes, the thunder growls, the rain 
streams down on the thirsty earth, and so long as the hurri- 
cane rages, the music of the feathered inhabitants of the 
wood is silent ; not a single little bird chirps, not a sound is 
heard among the green bows. Even for some time after the 
storm is over, a deep solemn stillness reigns over the wood. 
At last one little voice is heard, and then a second, then 
another and another, and soon the whole chorus chimes forth 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES; 105 

Sweeter and stronger than ever, as if rejoicing in the re- 
doubled joy and in the balmy breath of purified nature. 

“ So it is with us. As soon as we have rested awhile, one 
begins to sing, another to play the flute, and another springs 
up and pulls his neighbor by the ear, and soon follows a tri- 
umphant cry for the Pope and our commander.” 

‘‘ Hurrah !” interrupted the smith with a voice of thunder. 
“ These youths are not cats to be touched without a glove. 
They’ll hammer on the back of the revolution, as if it were 
an anvil.” 

‘‘ Then,” Peerjan continued, “in the evening we solace 
ourselves with talking over our dear Campine, for you must 
know that we never forget it. A true son of the Campine 
remains ever true to his Faith and his Fatherland. 

“ We sing one or other of our country’s songs, or tell one 
of its old legends, or talk over the traditional customs of our 
villages, or our old friends and acquaintances, and I know 
not what beside. We spent one whole evening in talking 
about the nicknames of the different towns in the Campine. 

“ But our most frequent and dearest subject of conversa- 
tion is our beloved Schrambeek, its beautiful church, its 
dear chapel, its old castle, its green meadows, its lonely pine 
wood, and its good people.” 

“ Grood! good !” cried the carpenter ; “ Pm glad to hear 
that. Peerjan, you must tell Mary to write and say that on 
our side we are never so pleased as when we are talking of 
our good Zouaves.” 

“ Most certainly,” answered the Picquet, delighted that 
liis reading should be so well received. 

He paused for a moment to settle his .spectacles and un- 
fold another letter, while his audience made use of this 
opportunity to make their remarks upon what they had 
heard. 


106 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


Ah!’^ exclaimed Peeijan at last, “ here I have something 
about Victor.” 

must tell you a story,” he read, “ of which Victor is 
the hero. There is a butcher at Terni who is the terror of 
the whole town for his strength and ferocity. He is no friend 
to the Zouaves, but he sells them meat for good payment. A 
few days ago, Victor called to pay him for what he had sold 
them, but the ‘ Hercules of the Block,’ hoping to intimidate the 
Pontifical Volunteer, asked more than was due to him. Vic- 
tor flatly refused to give him a farthing more. The butcher 
fell into a passion, and flourished his great knife. ‘Away 
with that,’ said Victor quietly. The ruffian would not hear ; 
he sprang upon my comrade to stab him to the heart, but 
Victor, with perfect coolness, warded off the blow with his 
left arm, and with his right hand struck the butcher such a 
hearty blow in the face, that he broke two of his teeth and 
sent him rolling over and over on the floor, leaving him no 
desire to make his further acquaintance. 

“In consequence of this occurrence, the men gathered 
round our dear Victor, who is greatly beloved by them all, 
and to their great satisfaction he has been raised to the rank 
of corporal.” 

The old Piquet went on with his reading, and his audience 
seemed as if they could never grovr tired, so anxious were 
they to hear all the particulars contained in Joseph’s remain- 
ing letters. 

We shall leave them for a moment to say a word upon a 
point on which Joseph’s modesty kept him silent — the piety 
and devotion which distinguished himself and his comj^an- 
ions. 

It will not be necessary to say much upon this subject. 
Who can doubt that Victor and his two comrades — those two 
brave young men who had devoted themselves so chivalrously 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


107 


to the service of the Church — were patterns of virtue and 
piety even in the rough life of the camp ? 

But they were not singular in this respect. 

All the Papal Zouaves distinguished themselves no less by 
their fervent piety than by their courage, and among them 
were many who were angels of piety and holiness under the 
garb of soldiers. 

“Among the Zouaves,” writes Bresciani, “were many 
young men full of innocence and of deep piety, who had 
consecrated themselves as a whole and living sacrifice with 
the single intention to die in defence of the Holy See. Wher- 
ever you went, you saw this noble band of youths full of 
gaity and spirit, but with a reserved and noble bearing worthy 
of their chivalrous and Christian resolution. In the evening 
you would see many of them making their visit to the Blessed 
Sacrament ; and in the morning, when in the city, those who 
had a half-hour to spare hastened to Mass. When they rose 
in the morning, they kissed the medal of our Blessed Lady 
which had been hung round their necks by a mother, a sister, 
or a bride, signing themselves with the^sign of the cross; 
and not a few, kneeling at the foot of their bed, recited the 
three Aves in honor of the Immaculat) Mother.” 

“New Zouaves,” continues the author of “ Olderico,” 
“ who had come to enrole themselves at Home after the Bat- 
tle of Castelfidardo, when they were in the camp at Monte 
Ptotondo, devoutly assisted at the Vespers of the clergy ; 
after which, in the presence of all the people, they entered 
the choir, and after the custom of France and Belgium, sang 
cantiques with a full concert of voices. The people all re- 
mained in the church in astonishment to hear these young 
soldiers sing with as much recollection and devotion as if 
they had been ecclesiastics. 

“When they were quartered at Terni, and afterwards in 


108 


THE DOLDLE SACIIIFICK ; OK, 


the neighboring camp, the evening prayer was a moving 
sight — the chaplain of each battalion intoning the prayers in 
the midst of the Zouaves formed in squares. It was beauti- 
ful to see these brave fellows after a fatiguing day of military 
exercises^ of marching and counter-marching, feigned assaults 
and feigned battles, weary and breathless as they were, recol- 
lect themselves, and with uncovered h- ads, and eyes cast down, ^ 
raise their voices and their hearts to Grod, thanking Him for 
the blessings bestowed upon them during the day, imploring ^ 
now graces and renewing the offering of their lives. Who 
can wonder that warriors with consciences so pure, shrank | 
not from a conflict of one against ten, cast terror into their | 
enemies, and sold their lives so dearly ? | 

“ General de Lamoriciere, in a visit which he made to the | 
camp at Terni, which consisted of the Zouaves, the German * 
corps, and the Pontifical legion, ordered a feigned assault on | 
Collescipoli. The Pontificals defended it, the Germans and ^ 
the Zouaves were the assailants. The general, seeing the 1 
ardor, the dexterity, the impetuosity and courage of these j 
brave young men, exclaimed — ‘ With ten thousand such as h 
these, I would undertake to sweep every conspirator out of | 
Italy 1’’’ S 

Having given our readers the song of the Belgian Zouaves, 
w^e think that they may also be glad to see that of the North 
Netherlanders, which, adapted to the Duch patriotic air, we i 
give as follows : — 

SONG OF THE DUTCH PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 

Flows Christian blood within your heart, 

From all pollution free t 
Prompt at your Father’s call to start, 

Uplift the song with me. 

With fearless heart we’ll fearless sing ; 

With loud and long acclaim, 

The Prince of Peace, the Pontiff King, 

Let each true tongue proclaim. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES, 


109 


God ! whose all wise and holy will, 

Doth order all things well, 

Let truth and justice triumph still 
O’er all the powers of hell. 

We flinch not from the cannon’s breath, 
Or bullet’s murd’rous aim ; 

We rush right joyfully on death, 

In our dear Father’s name. 

Let faith revive and faction cease, 
Though we lie ’neath the sod ; 

Let Father Pius reign in peace 
And feed the flock of God. 

For him we’ve left our native strand. 
Begirt by sea and flood ; 

For him, 0 faithful Netherland, 

We’ll shed our heart’s best blood. 

We plight our faith at Peter’s grave, 
Right loyally to hold 

The sacred rock, which Jesus gave, 

To shield and save His fold. 

Beneath the banner of the Lord, 
Batavians, Prisons bow ; 

His Vicar blesses each good sword. 

And every prostrate brow. 

Then guard, 0 Lord, each faithful breast, 
We trust them to Thy hand ; 

Oh, may Thy blessing on us rest. 

And on our Fatherland ! 

And come the worst that may betide, 
Then shall our latest breath. 

For Peter’s throne, at Pius’ side, 

Welcome a soldier’s death. 


10 


no 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


CHAPTER X. 

TREACHERY. 

T is by no choice of mine, respected reader, that 
I take up a pen which thrills with indignation 
between my fingers, to write one of the most dis- 
graceful pages in the history of our day. 

For we are now come to that moment of treacherous false- 
hood, cowardly cruelty, and insane folly, which will forever 
leave a bloody stain upon the white cross which once gleamed 
so brightly on the standard of Savoy. 

The moment when a crowned head — the descendant of 
Christian heroes, in whose veins flows the blood of Amadeus, 
Humbert, Margaret, and Mary Christina, a prince unmindful 
of his ancestry — took arms, together with a band of howling 
robbers, against his mother the Church, and planted his 
murderous dagger in her breast. The moment when Europe 
stood by in dumb helplessness to see right over-mastered by 
might, courage over-matched by numbers, truth trampled 
down by impiety ; when the horrible monster of revolution 
bathed its victorious banners in the noblest and haliest blood 
of earth. A shameful moment in the history of our day ! 
We might forgive such crimes to the revolution ; we stand 
amazed, yet we can comprehend it , she has been cradled in 
crime ; evil is her nature, her very life is hatred against God 
and godliness ; and, furious and unrelenting, she follows 
her aim of destruction by every means of baseness and per- 
.P^ry. 

But that a king should make himself the monster’s accom- 
plice, knowing— as he will know by experience — that the 
revolution will fling aside its useless tool when once its pur- 
pose shall be accomplished, is a blindness as incomprehensible 
as it is infatuated. 



THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


Ill 


What indeed but the poor tool, the blind accomplice of the 
revolution, is the prince who, after his shameful victory over 
the Papal troops, gave himself out to the Italians as the deliv- 
I erer of Italy, and shrank not from the blasphemy of attribut- 
ing his victory to Divine Providence 

There was a throne in Europe secured to a feeble old man 
by the most ancient and holiest prescription; he who filled it 
was the Vicar of God. No wonder, then, that as satan oiicj 
arose against God, so satan’s lieutenant has flung himself in 
his fury upon the ancient throne of Peter. 

Already had the revolutionary bands stretched forth their 
robber-claws to tear their prey in pieces, when a noble and 
chivalrous legion arose at the call of that old man, to circle 
his threatened throne with a rampart of steel. 

Small was the number of those brave hearts, yet it w^as 
sufficient to keep the revolution at bay, and to render all its 
efforts vain. 

The revolution, balked of its prey, gnashed its teeth with 
rage. 

But it had fostered children who had this world’s might in 
their hands. Will its children forsake it ? 

No. 

It had been hoped that Garibaldi’s bands would have, been 
strong enough to rob the Pope of his possessions, as they were 
strong enough afterwards, by the help of treachery, to snatch 
them from him. The Piedmontese would then have reaped 
the fruits of the crime without sharing in its disgrace. But 
the lion of Juda flew to arms, and neither treachery nor self- 
ishness lurked in the breasts of the Papal soldiers. 

Alas ! then, the mask must be, at least partly, laid aside. 

The faithless Cavour sent his shsimefnl idtimatiim to 'Rome, 
and at the same time despatched his worthy accomplices, 

♦Manifesto of Victor Emmanuel to the people of Northern Italy. (Journ. 
hist. et. litt , T. 27 ~p. 344.) 


112 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


Fanti and Cialdini, at the head of two divisions, into the 
Pontifical States. 

x\nd now, before Home could send an answer, the com- 
niander-in-chief of the Sardinian army made his disgraceful 
declaration of war. 

I have called it disgraceful. For were not falsehood and 
treachery enough ? Must the base hordes of Sardinia cast 
the poison of their slander upon the spotless fame of the Pon- 
tifical army, Bud the noble hearted heroes who were at its 
head ? 

And what did the crowned accomplice of the red shirt dare 
to say of the Pontifical Volunteers ? He called them a rab- 
ble, from all lands, and of all languages. 

What raid the minister, Cavour, a fervent worthy of his 
master ? In his uUimatmn he carries his effrontery so far as 
to call them a collection of people of all nations, of all lan- 
o*iia2:cs, and of all religions, without discipline, and insurrec- 
tionists, while ho accuses the Pontifical commanders of im- 
prudence. 

But the two manifestoes of Fanti and Cialdini to their 
soldiers, surpass all imagination. 

“ In order,” says Bresciani, “ that honest men may know 
to what extent party spirit can degrade men not wholly devoid 
of good qualities, w'e will give at length the two proclama- 
tions of war which issued from these two carhonarl, Fanti thus 
excites his soldiers to arms : ‘Foreign bands, collected from 
every part of Europe, on the soil of Umbria and the Marches, 
have planted there the false standard of a religion which they 
despise. Men without home or country, they provoke and 
insult the people in order to acquire a pretext for subduing 
them. Such oppression must cease ; and to repress this pre- 
sumption we have come to bring the aid of our arms to those 
unhappy sons of Italy who hope in vain to find justice and 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


113 


mercy in their rulers. This mission, entrusted to us by King 
Victor Emmanuel, we will fulfil ; and Europe shall know 
that Italy is no longer to he the prey and the trophy of the 
boldest, or the most fortunate adventurer. — M. Fanti.’ 

“ But Cialdini, who, to his quality of carbonaro adds that 
of a traitor to a prince who loved him as a father, exceeds his 
colleague in ferocity. ‘Soldiers,’ he says, ‘I lead you against 
a horde of drunken foreigners who have been allured into 
our country by the thirst of gold and the desire of plunder. 
Fight inexorably against these vile murderers, that, destroyed 
by your hands, they may feel the wrath of a people which 
rises in defence of its nationality and independence. Sol- 
diers ! blood-stained Perugia demands vengeance, and though 
late, she shall have it. — Enrico Cialdini.’ 

“ The two men, who were for so many years mercenaries 
in the pay of foreign governments ; who fought always for 
the w’ages of the revolutions ; who even now are the paid 
servants of a government which has iniquitously spoiled their 
legitimate rulers — these two men had the effrontery to sland- 
der the noble Pontifical Volunteers with a ribaldry only be- 
fitting the vilest of men. They are like robbers, who, when 
assailing the house of a peaceful and honest man, break down 
the door and rush through the rooms, crying ; ‘Oh, traitor, 
assassin, thief! bring out your money, bring out your jew- 
els, bring out your plate 1 Oh, robber, open the doors, or we 
will break your head !’ Thus calling the innocent and hon- 
est defender of his own house by the name which belongs to 
themselves. The Pontifical Volunteers were sons defending 
their Father’s possessions, and Fanti and Cialdini were ban- 
dits, who fell upon them to rob their father and to destroy them, 
because filial pity had drawn them from their country, from 
the bosoms of their families, from the side of their wives, 
from the embraces of their weeping little ones, to defend 


114 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


with their breasts the Church of God, the Mother of the 
faithful^ and the throne and the august person of the Yicar 
of Christ on earth, the Head, the Master, and the Father 
of all Believers. 

‘ ‘ Moreover, if it were not enough to call them by the 
names of drunkards, murderers, and plunderers, they had 
the effrontery to accuse them of irreligion — of planting the 
false standard of a religion which they despise. Oh yes ! 
Let the world judge who bore the false standard of a religion 
which they despise — the Zouaves and the other Pontifical Vol- 
unteers who were the admiration of the people among whom 
they dwelt, who saw them frequent the Churches, prostrate 
themselves humbly before the altars, unbuckle their invinci- 
ble swords, and approach with other pious citizens to receive 
the Body of Christ, the Bread of the strong, like the mar- 
tyrs of old_, to strengthen themselves to bear suffering and 
death in their confession of a Faith blasphemed and oppressed 
by its enemies; or, let the world say whether that false 
standard was not rather to bo found in the hands of Fanti 
and Cialdini, who unfolded the banner of the White Cross, 
and under that sacred ensign assailed the standard of the 
Cross in Italy and Borne to profane churches, to rob sacred 
vessels, to imprison Bishops^ to torture and mutilate Priests, 
as happened at Perugia, and happens even now in the Abruzzi 
and other parts of the kingdom of Naples 

‘‘Fanti and Cialdini called the standard of Lepanto, raised 
by the Pontifical Zouaves, the false standard of a religion 
xohich they despised, when around that standard and in the 
presence of the Holy House of Loretto, they beheld these 
heroes defend religion and its Head with their valiant swords, 
and by the sublime sacrifice of the last drop of their blood. 
They, on the contrary, under the sacred standard of the 
Cross, proclaim themselves liars, descending into Umbria and 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


115 


the Marches ‘to revive religion destoyed by the Priests, to 
restore morality injured by the vices of the Clergy, and order 
overthrown by the injustice and cruelty of the Papal gov- 
ernment.’ ” 

A glorious religion indeed, a pure morality, an enviable 
government has unhappy Italy received from the hands of 
her deliverers ! 

But, dear reader, we will let the veil fall, for a moment at 
least, over all this treachery which makes us blush for our com- 
mon humanity, and return to our good Zouaves, to see with 
what courage and with what piety they are preparing for the 
unequal conflict. 


CHAPTEE XI. 



BEFORE THE STORM. 

jlT is a lovely sight on a bright spring day to look 
upon a well-watered garden ; the young leaves, 
the tender stalks, the delicate flowers with their 
glorious coloring, and to breathe in the fragrant 
scents which embalm the air. 

The poppy, the balsam, the clove, the hyacinth, and a 
hundred other flowers chequer the green turf with their 
various colors ; the snow-white lily rises next to the variega- 
ted tulip, and the simple daisy nestles under the shade of 
the proud peony. 

They all shed their sweet odor around. The lowly violet, 
half hidden in the grass, as well as the noble rose blooming 
upon its stately stem, the scarce visible mignonette, as well 
as the hundred blossomed syringa. 

The air is full of the incense which rises from these gar- 
lands of flowers, 




116 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


But^ see, there is a shuddering through the leaves. Why 
does nature seem to tremble ? Ah ! yonder comes the storm. 
A vivid flash of lightning, then the thunder rolls around, 
shaking the atmosphere with shock after shock. 

Poor flowers 1 you look fresher still against the dark clouds 
which come threatening over the horizon ; but, alas ! your 
end is at hand. The wind rises, the rain pours in torrents 
over the hard earth. 

Poor flowers 1 your petals lie strewn upon the ground, your 
stalks broken and your colors defiled with mud. Yet 
from that scene of desolation there rises a fragrance richer 
and sweeter than when you glittered in all the pride of your 
beauty. 

The flowers are an image of the martyred heroes of Castel- 
fidardo, of that garden sheltered within the Church’s walls, 
where the lowly peasant’s child blooms side by side with the 
noble offspring of some princely house. Poor flowers ! you 
were the ornament of our century, but a dark and destructive 
storm has broken over your head, and broken and crushed the 
spring-tide of your life. Yet the sweet odor of your virtues, 
the sweet odor of Christy rises wdth fresh fragrance over your 
lonely resting place. 

^ >1' ^ ^ A' ^ 

Fanti had sent his disgraceful ultimatum to the command- 
ers of the Papal forces. 

The Zouaves, with the other divisions then at Terni, had 
broken up their camp and directed their march upon Foligno, 
Serravalle, Tolentino, and Macerata ; in order, if possible, 
to unite with the other troops of Be Lamoriciere, while the 
Piedmontese were hastening to besiege Ancona. 

The Zouaves of Be Pimodan left Macerata on the night 
of the 16th Septembe^^, and encamped at a short distance 
from Loretto. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAYES. 


117 


Meanwhile the enemy had already taken Pisaro with a 
! force of 12,000 men against 1,200 Papal troops, which, 
under the command of the brave Colonel Zappi, had defended 
i it for four-and-twenty hours ; they had disgraced themselves 
by a shameful victory at Perugia, obtained by treachery and 
the force of unequal numbers, and crowned by the murder 
i of an innocent priest. They had taken the castle of Spoleto 
: after a desperate defence, led by the noble Irishman, Miles 
i O’Peilly. 

We cannot linger over all the circumstances (not one of 
which is without honor to the Pontifical troops and shame to 
.their opponents,) for our object is not to give a history of 
this crusade of the nineteenth century, but only to give a few 
free sketches from the life of the Papal Zouaves, and especi- 
ally of the Belgian Volunteers. 

It was evening. The Zouaves, as we have said, were en- 
camped a short distance from Loretto. 

A striking scene was presented by the camp at that mo- 
ment. A scene to rivet the attention of angels and of men. 

Beedelievre, the commander of the Zouaves, had addressed 
them in the following words : 

“ My Zouaves, we have at last reached the eve of that 
day in which we are to testify before God, the Church, and 
the whole of Christian Europe, the fervor of our zeal, the 
courage of our hearts, the noble and unshrinking fortitude 
with which we will maintain the Foundation of the Faith 
against its impious assailants, who are now before us as ten 
to one. Many of us must shortly appear before the Throne 
of God. Let us endeavor to appear before him with our 
souls washed pure and white, that the baptism of our blood 
may be the more acceptable in the presence of Eternal 
Purity. I have already purified my conscience at Foligno; 
let those who now desire to do the same go to the Chaplain.’’ 


118 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


In a corner between two thick hedges, beside a deep trench, 
sat the Rev. Heer Sacre, the chaplain of the Zouaves, and 
our fellow-countryman; and all these brave young men, 
having unbuckled their swords, knelt one by one at his feet, 
calm, recollected, humble, and full of reverence, and having 
received Holy Absolution, rose cheerfully again, and knelt 
at a little distance on the green turf to say their penance. 

The author of ‘'Oluerico’’ has given us a moving picture 
of this scene. I venture once again to borrow his colors. 

“It was a sight worthy of God and His Angels. The 
sky^ glittering with stars, covered them with its azure man- 
tle; the waves of the iVdriatic softly kissed the feet of the 
hills, and greeted with their gentle murmur the future mar - 
tyrs of the Church ; the wild laurels which clothed the hills 
of Lorctto prepared their immortal crowns. Mary accepted 
the fervent prayers which rose around the house of Naza- 
reth, where, in obedience to her Flat MUii, the Son of God 
became Incarnate and presented them to her Only Begotten 
that he might indue his champions wdth strength. 

“ Thus must it have been with the camp of Godfrey do 
Bouillon the night before the assault upon Jerusalem, when 
the Crusaders prepared themselves for the glorious enterprise 
of the deliverance of Christ’s Sepulchre by fasting and 
prayer, and by the Sacraments of Confession, and of the 
Body of the Lord. 

“Godfrey, Bohemond, Tancred, Rinaldo, and the other 
Barons of the west, having laid aside their invincible swords, 
knelt before the Priests, and, beating their fearless breasts, 
contritely confessed their sins to those who bore Christ’s 
commission to bind and to loose. 

“ There, also, beneath the walls of the Holy City^ the blue 
sky was the temple of the Crusaders ; the Confessor sat under 
the shadow of the palm tree, and the distant Jordan, by the 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


no 


soft murmur of the waters which had been sanctified by the 
baptism of Christ, invited to cleansing and pardon, and 
hymned the triumph of the martyrs who were to fight on the 
morrow for His Sepulchre. 

“ But then, 0 my God, Thou didst permit the Crusaders to 
deliver Thy Tomb from the thraldom of the infidel ; and now 
Thou hast suffered the holy place, in which Thou didst take our 
human nature upon Thee, to fall into the robber-hand of Thy 
enemies. Alas ! is the room in which the Virgin of Sion 
heard the Ave of the Angel less sacred than Thy Sepulchre ? 
If there Thou didst lay down Thy Divine Body, crucified for 
our redemption, remember that here Thou didst assume that 
manhood which was the beginning of the salvation of the 
world. In order that this precious cell should not remain 
in the power of the dogs. Thou didst command Thy Angels 
lo remove it from Nazareth, and to bring it into a faithful 
land where it should bo ever revered and venerated ; and the 
Angels bore into the bosom of Thy Church, and placed it on 
this laurel-covered hill hard by the sea-shore, to be visited 
•by pilgrims from the east and the west. Hither they came, 
age after age, to invoke Thy JMother’s name, and to kiss 
_ those walls on which is inscribed, in letters of gold, ‘Hic 
Verbum CARO FACTUM ESid To thesc walls they came kneel- 
ing, trembling, kissing the sacred ground, with eyes full of 
tears, and hearts full of hope and love. And now, most 
merciful Lord, dost thou suffer this most august temple to be 
wrested from the hands of Thy Vicar upon earth, to remain 
enslaved and neglected in the hands of robbers. 

Ab, fe liclto m’e 

Son li giusti occhi tuoi rivolti altrovel 
0 e preparazion, che nell abiffo 
Del tuo conseglio fai per alcum bene 
In tutto dall’accorger nostro scisso. 

—Dante, Purg. VI. 


120 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


‘ ‘ Wc humbly adore Thy inscrutable will, but suffer us to 
pray, to implore, to conjure Thee, from the very bottom of 
our hearts, to restore to us these sacred walls, wherein Thou 
wast conceived in the most pure womb of Mary, Avherein 
Thou didst pass Thy youth, whence Thou didst come forth to 
spread Thy Divine Word, and to die upon the Cross for 

While the Priest of the Lord was giving the blessing of 
Heaven to his children, Joseph and Martin, who had already 
made their confession, were conversing together at about forty 
paces distant on the border of the trench. 

Victor had just received absolution, and was saying his 
penance at a little distance from his friends. 

He seemed quite absorbed in prayer. He had turned 
towards Loretto, and his eye remained fixed on the dome of 
Mary’s Temple, which, like a dark shadow in the evening 
sky, seemed pointing up to heaven ; his hands were crossed 
upon his breast, and his lips murmured hopefully the name 
of his Heavenly Mother. 

Was his a prayer for protection in the battle, or was it the 
renewal of the brave young man’s offer of his life ? Or was 
he praying to the Mother of sinners for the conversion of his 
beloved and unbelieving father ? 

At last he rose from the ground, and came to join his two 
friends. 

It is all right,” cried he when he came near to them ; 
“ wc arc all in good order now.” 

Yes, friends, continued he, half in jest and half in ear- 
nest ; ‘ ‘ the victims arc ready, there is nothing wanting now 
but the sacrifice!’, and we shall not have long to wait for him.” 

“ The sacrificer?” cried Martin, “ do you mean our ene- 


*‘^0]derico” XII. L’arrivoin Loreto 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


121 


niies? They will not find us so easy to deal with, and they 
shall find, at all events, that they have no defenceless flock 
of sheep to slaughter.” 

The giant sprang to his feet and stood in a threatening 
posture with his arms outspread. His countenance, ordina- 
rily so mild, was fearful to look upon ; a deep wrinkle marked 
his forehead, and his eyes shot fire. 

“Assuredly,” replied Victor, “we shall sell our lives 
dearly, for we are soldiers as well as victims. Hut the 
enemy, which has fallen upon us so treacherously, is far 
more than 'a match for us, the greater number of us, if not 
all, will to-morrow seal our engagement with our blood ; and 
yet I have never been so much at peace ; never — shall I say 
it? — so happy as at this moment.” 

. “ It is the same with me,” answered Joseph. “And 
indeed Victor, is not our lot, when viewed by the eye of 
Faith, happy ; nay, enviable ? We are sure to triumph what- 
ever befalls us, either by victory or by death ; if we die, 
we die under the blessing of the Vicar of Christ and we rise 
from the Holy House of Nazareth to the tabernacles of the 
Everlasting Zion.” 

“Joseph,” interrupted Martin, “what are you saying? 
It is so beautiful that I shall be grieved to my heart if I out- 
live the battle to-morrow.” 

The two other young men could not refrain from a smile at 
the simple, j^et sublime words of their comrade. 

“ Ah !” continued Victor, after a short pause, “ you said 
well, Joseph, that our lot may be accounted enviable. At 
least, I would not exchange mine for anything in the world. 
Have I not kissed the hand of the dear Father of the Faith- 
ful ? Has not his blessing fallen from the fullness of his heart 
upon my head ? Has not my foot trodden the earth hallowed 
by the blood of the Apostles? Have I not knelt before 
11 


122 THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 

V - } ^ 

their precious relics ? And shall I not to-morrow have 
the unspeakable happiness of receiving my Jesus into my 
heart ? Tliere,^^ and he pointed towards Loretto, there in 
the same sacred walls wherein the Eternal Word once de- 
scended for our salvation into the bosom of the Immaculate 
Maiden of Nazareth ! I have but one more grace to desire 
and that perhaps I shall win by my death ; for it I have joy- 
fully offered my life, and my first and last prayer in Mary’s 
dwelling shall be for that grace.” 

The three friends were silent for some minutes, for Victor’s 
words had moved them deeply. 

Do you know,” said Joseph at last, ‘‘ what I was think- 
ing of just now ? My thoughts were far away in our Father- 
land. I thought I saw all our dear ones praying for us in 
the Troosthapeh 

“It is not impossible that they were doing so, indeed. 
At all events, we may rest assured that their prayers will not 
be wanting to us.” 

“ Will they have received cur letters from Foligno yet?” 
asked Martin. 

“I think not,” answered Victor ; “there has not been 
time yet. But the newspapers will no doubt have informed 
them of the faithless invasion of the Piedmontese.” 

“ Poor friends !” said Joseph, “ how anxious they will be 
on our account !” 

“God will strengthen them,” said Victor. “As they 
pray for us, so will we pray for them that the Lord would 
infuse comfort into their hearts. Should we fall in the battle 
I hope that the sweet trust to meet once more in Heaven will 
soften their grief. But my father !” cried the youth, after a 
short pause. “ Oh, my father! I love him so dearly, and 
what anguish it is to my heart 1 How do I know whether I 
shall meet him again throughout eternity ? Comrades, broth- 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


123 


' ers, you will pray to-morrow at Mary^s feet for my poor 
father and he wept hitter tears. 

“Courage and confidence!’^ answered Joseph hopefully. 
‘ ‘ You must not despair. Is not prayer omnipotent ; and 
I above all the prayer of a child for his father’s salvation 2 
j Who knows, my friend, but grace is already victorious over 
j unbelief in your father’s heart. Has not your mother meii- 
I tioned a wonderful change in his deportment? Victor, I 
think, and there is something in my inmost heart that tells 
I me that your father will be converted.” 

' “Thanks, Joseph,” said Victor; “ your good words have 
comforted me. God grant it may be so. I will hope also; 
but sometimes the thought of my poor father pierces my heart 
like a dagger, and gives me unutterable pain.” 

Meanwhile the shadows of evening had spread more darkly 
over the landscape, and the three friends^ after exchanging a 
few more words, joined the rest of their companions. 

As Martin had said, they had sent a last letter to their 
parents from Foligno, to warn them of the approaching 
storm. 

“ My dearest father and mother,” so Victor wrote, “we 
are, perhaps, about to converse together for the last time ; in 
a few days we shall meet the enemy who are approaching in 
overpowering numbers. Yet, dear father, beloved mother, 
disquiet not yourselves ; whatever happens we are in the 
Lord’s hands ; and is it not, as the ‘ Imitation of Christ,’ 
says, ‘ God’s work to help and deliver ?’ Then my ofiering 
dates not from to-day ; I have fully consecrated my blood and 
my life to God, from the moment when he inspired me with 
the resolution. I renew that offer now in the fullest joy and 
tranquillity of spirit, and I am ready, with the help of God’s 
grace, to accomplish it not only with resignation but joy ; and 
youv my dearest parents, sorrow not hopelessly even should 


124 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


our Lord accept my sacrifice to the utmost, hut raise your 
eyes to Him full of trust and confidence. Mother, did you 
not tell me that you would thank God on the day that should 
see you the mother of a martyr ? 

“ Oh ! my dearly -loved father, forgive me if I venture to 
speak to you freely hut fervently with child -like love ; this 
moment is solemn enough to plead my excuse. Oh, father I 
dear father, turn at last from your erring way ; resist no 
longer the voice of God. I conjure you, father, shut not 
your ear against the prayer, the last prayer, of your loving 
child ; fulfil his only desire before he goes to die. Father, 
there is hut one thought which will make the hour of death 
hitter to me — the fear of being eternally separated from you. 
But no, dear father, it will not he so ; you will not refuse the 
last prayer of your dying child ; you will turn again to the 
God whom you once knew and loved. For oh! there is a 
voice in my heart which bids me hope ; and consoled by that 
blessed confidence I shall depart to my heavenly country. 
And then, dearest father, my spirit will look down happily 
upon you and upon my mother ; then shall our separation he j 
short and full of hope, to he followed by an eternal re-union. 

Farewell in this sweet hope, dear father , helovea mother, 
farewell. Your Yictor. 

The letter in which Yictor made so heart-rending an ap- 
peal to his father had not yet reached its destination, nor 
those that had been written by Joseph and Martin. Yet, as 
Yictor anticipated, the newspapers had informed their friends 
of the treacherous invasion of the Piedmontese, and a long 
cry of indignation burst from every honest heart throughout 
Europe at the sacrilegious crime. 

At the first tidings which he had received from the news- 
papers, Morren was furiously angry. 

‘'It was just what I foresaw, unfortunate Yictor. What 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


125 


i put such folly into your head ? Weak father !” he continued, 

I striking his forehead, “ why did you let your son go ?” 

Yet the remembrance of his son again awoke the voice of 
paternal love, and turned his anger against the invaders. 

“The cowards!’’ he burst forth; “ten against one!” 
Then placing his finger on the manifesto of Cialdini, which 
I was inserted in the newspaper, “How?” cried he with in- 
creasing indignation, ‘ ‘ a traitor to his prince dares to describe 
my innocent Victor and his companions as drunken foreigners, 
whom gold and plunder have attracted to Italy ? Shame to 
him who thus dares to slander that company of noble young 
men 1” 

In his anger he tore the newspaper and strewed the pieces 
on the floor. 

; “Victor! Victor!” he sighed. “Unhappy child, joy of 
my old age ! Shall I never see you again ?” 

From that hour the old philosopher had no rest. For a 
moment he thought to stifle his grief by study. ^ He took 
down a book of Voltaire’s from his book-case, and opening it 
at random, he read : 

, “ All our actions are the sport of necessity, which rules all 

the affairs of this world.” 

I He threw away the book impatiently. 

“Oh! proud reason,” he said with a sigh, “which can 
infuse no other comfort into my aching heart than a belief in 
a blind necessity, which rules over reasonable beings as well 
as over unreas.'snable animals, and impels them irresistibly 
and unchangeably on their miserable way ! Ah ! the teach- 
ing of Mary’s book is more healing to a suffering heart.” 

I With panting breath and burning forehead he rushed out 
of the room to breathe more calmly in outer air. All the 
evening he wandered hopelessly through the fields. 

I Poor man ! how should he find comfort ? The only true 
11 * 


126 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


Comforter dwelt not within him — his unbelief had long ago 
driven Him from his heart. Deep also was the sorrow of 
Victor’s mother and the widow Van Dael, but they found 
strength and comfort in the inestimable treasure of prayer. 

Every evening after the anxious tidings had come, they 
went together to the Troostkapel, to pour forth their hearts 
before the Consoler of the afflicted. There they always found 
old Teresa, who spent hour upon hour there, and their united 
prayers arose for the safety of their absent children. 

Both sisters had indeed strong hearts. Every mother 
knows what a mother’s anxiety must be at the danger of her 
son, but they were both outwardly calm ; they had always 
words of hope to support the shattered spirits of Mynheer 
Morren, and to dry the tears of Joseph’s weeping sister. But 
what strength of mind was needed to enable them to do this, 
for their own hearts were bleeding under the intensity of 
their anguish ? It seemed sometimes as if they would break 
under the weight of the painful uncertainty, and when they 
could obtain a moment of solitude, a flood of tears would 
stream from their eyes and sleep forsook their pillows ; and 
if they closed their eyes from very weariness, fearful dreams 
would haunt their slumbers, and waken the poor mothers again 
to the remembrance of their sorrow. 

Mary’s rest was still oftener broken by frightful dreams. 
The poor child, hitherto so bright and frolicsome, seemed to 
have lost all her cheerfulness. She would spend hours in her 
little room kneeling befor the image of the Immaculate 
Mother, and when she awoke shuddering in the night from 
some frightful dream which made the perspiration stand on 
her forehead, she would throw herself before the image of 
her Holy Protectress, and receive strength and comfort in 
her prayer. 

One night she awoke in such anguish that she fled into her 
mother’s room. Mevrouw Van Dael had just fallen asleep for 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


127 


a moment. Two tears, the last she had shed that night, were 
standing on her cheek. 

“ Mother sobbed the poor girl. “ Mother 

She opened her eyes, startled at her sudden appearance. 

“ Mary, child/^ said she gently, “ what has happened that 
you come to me in the middle of the night T’ 

“ Ah ! mother,’^ said Mary weeping, “ I am so miserable. 
I dreamt that I saw Joseph dying on the field of battle. lie 
smiled at me for the last time, and when ” 

And poor Mary burst into a fiood of tears. 

The mother pressed her weeping child to her heart, and 
gently kissed the tears away from her cheek. 

“ Dearest child, said she in a voice which she tried to 
render calm, “ why should you thus torture yourself? These 
are dreams, idle dreams, which you should try to put out of 
your head. Be of good hope, Mary, that Joseph will return 
in safety. God and God’s sweet Mother will protect him for 
the love of his sister and mother. Go to rest again, my 
child ; you will make yourself ill by leaving your bed in the 
chilly night. Kiss me once more, Mary, and receive my 
blessing. Fear not, God is with us.” 

The poor child kissed her mother tenderly, and returned, 
half comforted to her room, to try to forget her anguish for 
a time in sleep. 

Towards the morning of the same night, Mevrouw Morren 
had closed her eyes for a short time when a fearful dream 
oppressed her. She seemed to see her beloved Victor sur- 
rounded on all sides by a multitude of wild beasts. Lions, 
panthers, tigers, bears, pressed around him, threatening to 
tear him to pieces with their claws and their teeth. The 
young man was defending himself bravely, but his strength 
already began to fail him, his breath came short, his arm fell 
powerless by his side ; a raging lion sprang upon him, threw 


128 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


him upon the ground, and the whole hand flew howling and 
roaring upon their victim, in whom they soon left not a ves- 
tige of the human form. 

The tortured mother awoke with a loud cry, and looked 
fearfully around the room, as if she expected to see the fear- 
ful vision which had haunted her sleep. 

The morning dawn had tinged the horizon with its rosy 
tints, and the poor mother stood, still pale and shuddering, 
by her bed of anguish. 

“ Oh^ Mary she prayed, kneeling before the Mother 
Maid ; “ you know what anguish rends my heart ; you know 
what a mother can sufier. On Golgotha, you drank the bit- 
terest chalice of woe which was ever offered to a mother’s 
lips. Oh, have pity on me ! Obtain for me strength and 
power to persevere in my painful sacrifice even to the end. 
If it be possible, preserve my Victor to my love ; yet let the 
adorable will of the Lord be done, who wills nothing but for 
our good and happiness.” 

At the very moment when his mother was praying for him, 
Victor was with his companions in the Holy Church of 
Loretto, where that sacred dwelling is preserved in which 
the Eternal Word was Incarnate. 

A solemn scene there met the eye. 

It was in the early morning of September 18, the day on 
which the Battle of Castelfidardo was fought. 

“ There was a scene,” wrote a French priest who wit- 
nessed it, ‘‘worthy of the noblest days of the Crusades. 

“ At four o’clock, Be Lamoriciere, Be Pimodan, the whole 
staffs the guides, the Franco-Belgian and and Butch Eegi- 
ments, the foreigners, the artillerymen^ the Italians, received 
the Sacred Body of the Lord in the Holy Sacrament of the 
Altar. I saw the greater number of them prostrate, with 
their forehead on the floor of that Church which so many 
pious brows had touched before. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


129 


I “ The recollection of the two generals was so calm, so sol- 
I einn, that I could not overcome my emotion. Moreover, I 
! saw all around me bathed in tears.’’ 

^ Who indeed could restrain his tears at the sight of such 
I courage combined with such piety ? Who could help weep- 
j ing at the sight of these heroes^ who, at the feet of their 
I Heavenly Mother, were renewing, for the last time, calmly 
and steadfastly, the sacrifice of their lives before rushing to 
meet the death which was awaiting them without ? 

J oseph and Martin were distinguished among all their com- 
panions for the air of deep recollection which marked their 
outward bearing, but Victor was so utterly absorbed in his 
prayer that he looked like a marble statue. 

He was praying for his father. 

And when at last he crossed the threshold of the Church 
to hasten to the battle, he turned his head thither for the last 
time with the imploring cry : 

My father!” 



130 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


CHAPTER XIL 


THE GULF OF PERDITION. 



IIILST the heroes of De Lamoriciere’s little army 
where streaming into Loretto, the enemy was 
surrounding them on all sides in overwhelming 
numbers. 


Orsimo, Camerano, Castelfidardo, and all the villages which 
lay between them, swarmed with Piedmontese, who, like 
howling wolves, were ready to fall upon the little fold of guilt- 
less sheep. 

On the same evening when Victor and his companions were 
purifying their consciences for the last time in the Holy Sac- 
rament of Penance, two Piedmontese soldiers were strolling 
over the hills above Castelfidardo. 

One of them, who seemed between twenty and thirty years, 
of age, was a foreigner, who had arrived a short time before 
in the Sardinian camp. He had appeared there a little while 
before the Sardinian invasion, and after a long interview with 
the commander, he had been incorporated into a company of 


foot. 


No one knew this new comrade ; the mystery which seemed 
to surround him soon excited general curiosity. Who could 
he be ? What was the purpose of his mission ? 

Some, who wished to appear better informed than the com- 
mon run of soldiers, affirmed that he was a carhonaro of dis- 
tinction, sent by Garibaldi, and entrusted with his secret 
plans. However this might be, nobody was sure of being 
right in his suspicions, and the stranger was very reserved 
and unsociable with his companions. 

To one alone he seemed, from his first arrival, to give 
greater confidence, and he was often seen in his company. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


131 


This was the soldier with whom he was now walking, and 
who bore the name of Orazio. 

Doubtless, he w^as well acquainted with his mysterious 
I friend, but he was as silent as the grave. 

I The two companions had come to a level spot on the hill, 
and had thrown themselves down on the grass. 

What a beautiful evening !’’ said the stranger, “ the eve 
perhaps of my revenge.” 

Your revenge V inquired his comrade, why do you not 
say our revenge ? Are we not all about to wreak it on the 
base enemy of Italy ? or do you look, moreover, for a per- 
sonal revenge, Gennaro ?” 

Gennaro, for we recognize our old acquaintance the car- 
honaro. Gennaro paused for a few moments before he an- 
swered. At last he said : 

“ A personal revenge indeed, Orazio. Listen ; I will tell 
you my miserable history, for I have no need to blush in your 
presence. I know you, Orazio. At the command of the 
secret society, did you not plunge your dagger in the heart 
of your own brother ?” 

Orazio shuddered at the piercing glance which Gennaro 
turned on him. 

“ Disturb not yourself,” said the latter ; you have noth- 
ing to fear from me. I only wish to show you how well you 
are known to me. Orazio, you let your dagger fall the first 
time, and it was only fear of the carhonarVs vengeance w'hich 
replaced it in your hands. . Do I say true, Orazio ?” 

“ It is true,” muttered he, prostrated by the secret power 
which his companion exercised over him. ‘‘ It is true ; but 
how could you know it? It was in the darkness of night.” 

‘ ‘ Enough ; you see I do know it. But this has nothing 
to do with my own history. It will do me good to ease my 
heart at the approach of my long-repressed vengeance. 


132 


TUE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OB, 


“ My family is originally from Naples. I was cradled 
among the shadowy trees of a villa hard by. I was the 
second of two children, born to the advocate Bernardo Bian- 
chi by his marriage with Benedetta Carucci. 

“ Careless and joyous, the years of my childhood flew by. 
We had friends; we were prosperous. For my father, who 
was esteemed the first barrister in ^he city, had many a lucra- 
tive cause to plead. 

‘ ‘ But our quiet happiness did not last long ; it excited 
envy and enmity, and my father was assailed by slander. 
The number of his friends gradually diminished, his clients 
sought other advocates. 

‘ ‘ What was to be done ? To take legal proceedings against 
the slanderers? Impossible, the accusations were too vague, 
the source of the slander too carefully hidden to be reached 
by any such means. My father wrung his hands in despair ; 
my mother pined away. 

‘‘ Alas ! after a few months’ suffering, she was taken from 
us for ever. 

' ‘ My poor mother ! what a loss were you to me ! She 
loved me so tenderly ; too tenderly, perhaps. 

‘ ‘ All these unexpected shocks had rendered his residence 
in Naples hateful to my father^ and soon after my mother’s 
death he made known to us his intention of removing to 
Borne. 

* * He ascribed the slander which had destroyed his happi- 
ness to the devices of the secret societies, which he had 
always openly and strongly opposed, and he hoped to have . 
less to fear from their persecution in the capital of Christen- 
dom. The wound inflicted by the death of his beloved wife 
was still bleeding, and induced him to bid farewell to his pro- 
fession, and to pass the remainder of his days in the tran- 
quility of domestic life. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


133 


So long as my mother’s watchful eye had guarded me I 
had remained true to the precepts of my parents ; hut now 
being left more to myself, I soon fell into the society of bad 
I companions. I became a drunkard and a gambler. 

I Among my new acquaintances there was one named Sil- 
j vio, who exercised an extraordinary influence over me. He 
I was small in stature, dark and meagre in appearance, his lips 
were thin and generally pressed tight together ; his nose was 
crooked, his eyes seemed to pierce right through your soul. 
He was the devil who led me to perdition. 

I “ ‘ Bravo, Gennaro !’ cried he, when I won at play. ‘Drink 
j again^ and go on.’ 

j “ ‘ Courage,’ he whispered in my ear when I lost. ‘Drown 
I your loss in wine, and go on. He wins who perseveres.’ 

“ Alas ! I went on, and I lost. I incurred debts — heavy 
debts. I dared not speak to my father of my condition, and 
indeed how could he have helped me ? Our fortune had be- 
come very narrow ; we lived with difliculty on the savings of 
better days. 

“I saw the abyss open before my feet, and yet I rushed 
desperately forward. Silvio, my evil genius, urged me on. 
I still played. I still lost. I became desperate, and tried 
to drown my misery in wine, for the moment drew near when 
I I expected my creditors to come upon me. 

‘ ‘ I vfas sitting despondingly in a cofiee-house in the Piaz- 
za Navona, when Silvio came in. As soon as he saw me he 
I came straight up to me. 

' “‘Ah, Gennaro !’ said he. ‘What is the matter with 

you, that you look so sorrowful?’ 

“‘Sorrowful, indeed,’ I replied, ‘and not without 
; reason.’ 

“ ‘ Come, come,’ said he, looking straight into my eyes. 

‘ What is it ? Tell me what is the matter ?’ 

12 


134 


TUE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


^ I have debts.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Nothing else ?’ 

** * Heavy debts.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ And nothing else ?’ 

* And no money.’ 

“ ‘ Make it.’ 

' That’s easily said,’ I replied, bitterly ; ‘ but how ?’ 

‘"‘Nothing easier,’ replied he, coolly. ‘ Gennaro,’ he 
said, after a moment’s pause, ‘ do you want money? Then 
come with me.’ 

“‘Whither?’ 

“ ‘ What matters that, if you want money, not only now 
but for the future ?’ 

‘ ‘ I followed him mechanically. Must not I pay my debts ? 

Must I not avoid disgrace at whatever price ? 

“ After we had walked on for a long time, Silvio stopped 
before a moderate sized house in the Via Ripetta^ and 
knocked at the door. 

‘ ‘ A servant soon opened it. 

“ ‘ Oh! it is you,’ said he, when he saw Silvio. 

“ ‘ Is he within?’ asked Silvio. 

“ On a reply in the affirmative, we passed through many 
passages, and at last knocked at the door of a room. 

“ ‘ Who’s there?’ was asked from within. 

“ ‘ Friends unto death was the answer of my comrade ; 
and, as if the words possessed some mysterious power, the 
door flew open immediately. 

“ In the middle of the room which we now entered, an old 
man sat at a long table covered with papers. A grey mous- 
tache shaded his upper lip, his head was half bald, he had a 
mild expression of countenance, but quick glancing eyes. 

“ ‘Ah!’ said he, at the first look which he gave me ; 

‘ Gennaro Bianchi, welcome. You are come at last?’ 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


135 


I stood in Amazement, for I did not understand his words 
nor could I guess how he came to know me. ‘ I’ll leave you 
alone,’ said Silvio, going. ‘ The matter will he settled in a 
few moments.’ 

“ The old man nodded his head in assent. 

“ Gennaro Bianchi,’ he hegan^ when we were left alone, 

‘ my good friend, you are the very man whom we have been 
seeking.’ 

“ ‘ I beg you, signor, to explain yourself,’ said I. ‘ I do 
not understand how you come to know me.’ 

I * Know you ?’ said he, laughing ; ‘ I have been watching 
I you for a long time past. There, read,’ he continued, 

1 giving me a paper on which was a list of names, my own 
I among them. 

j read. Orazio, it was a description of my person, my 

talents, my faults, even, so full and so just that I was per- 
fectly astonished. 

j ‘‘ ‘Do I know you?’ continued the old man. ‘ Gennaro, 

! you want money, do you not ?’ And he looked sharply into 
! my eyes. 

I “ ‘ Indeed I do,’ said I, in a scarcely audible voice. 

“ ‘Don’t be afraid,’ said he, ‘ you shall have it on one 
single condition. Gennaro, you have but to inscribe your 
name among the members of the secret society which is labor- 
ing for the deliverance of Italy.’ 

‘ ‘ ± started back in horror j the image of my lost mother 
seemed to rise before me. I saw her imploring and adjuring 
me to resist. 

‘“■Never! never!’ cried I. ‘If these are the terms on 
which you are to give me help, let me depart at once.’ 

‘ ‘ I had already reached the door when the old man sprang 
i forward and held me with a powerful arm. 

[ “ ‘ Depart ?’ said he. ‘ No, Gennaro, you must and shall 

be one of us.’ 


136 


The double sacrifice ; or, 


“ ‘Let me go,’ I cried, ‘ let me go. I will leave this 
place.’ 

‘ ‘ His whole countenance changed ; he seemed to have 
turned into a devil. 

‘ Be still/ said he, ‘ or else,’ and he put the muzzle of a 
loaded pistol to my breast, ‘ I wdll send a bullet through your 
heart.’ 

“Half unconscious, and as if stunned, I sank into a 
chair. 

“ ‘ Gennaro,’ he continued, in a calm and even insinuating 
tone, ‘why so childish? T seek nothing but your good. 
Poor youth ! you do not yet know the carbonari. They are 
the deliverers of Italy, of the land of freedom, of your only 
true mother.’ 

‘ ‘ I made no answer. 

“ ‘ Gennaro,’ he repeated, ‘choose between ‘disgrace and 
subscription.’ 

“ I still resisted ; he implored, he argued, he threatened. 
To be brief, Orazio, I yielded, and when I left that house I 
was a carhonaro ; I, the son of Bernardo, who had sworn 
eternal enmity to the society. 

“ From that moment an utter change passed over me. I 
had a younger sister the very image of my deceased mother. 
So long as I trod in the paths wherein my parents had 
trained me, my sister was my darling; her joys were my 
joys, her sorrows my sorrows ; one grateful smile from her 
was sufficient to reward me for any trouble. I would have 
gone through fire and water for Nunziata, and Nunziata 
loved no one so well as her brother Gennaro. 

She was then very young, but exceedingly sharp-witted, 
and courageous, and self-possessed as a man. She soon re- 
marked my alteration. I did my best to appear outwardly 
the same Gennaro as before,, but I did not succeed ; I was cold 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


137 


and reserved even with her. How could it have been other- 
wise ? I felt hell raging within me ; remorse gnawed at my 
heart. I would fain have retraced my steps. But no, no — 
forwards, still forwards ; to retrace my steps was to die, for the 
avenging dagger was hanging over my head. 

“ Forward, therefore, forward ! I smothered my remorse. 
I hardened my heart, but the struggle was long and painful. 
Orazio, it is long before hell obtains peaceful possession of 
the heart of man. 

“ Nunziata at last ventured to ask mo the reason of the 
change which she observed in me. I answered her colul}- 
and harshly, that I would suiffer no child to interfere with 
my conduct. Poor Nunziata ! she wept and was silent ; and 
her tears fell like a scorching fire upon my heart. 

“Perhaps she spoke to my father of her fears, for he 
questioned me soon afterwards with greater sternness than 
he had ever shown to me before. I became furious, and 
answered him that I was my own master, and would no 
longer suffer any one to dictate to me. 

“ Qrazio, this was a step farther in the way of perdition, 
I had trampled on my sister’s love. I had shaken off my 
father’s authority. What was there now to restrain me ? 
Hitherto my family had only looked upon me as a libertine, 
without suspecting my connection with the secret society. I 
took every possible means to preserve my secret. My com- 
panions had conjured me to observe the utmost prudence and 
the most careful precautions ; but Bernardo was one day to 
know that his son was a carhonaro. I had not long entered 
upon my path of perdition when I became less watchful ; I 
acted more freely. I was accustomed to go to the meetings 
of the carhonari late in the evening, when all our household 
were deep in slumber, 

12 * 


138 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; ORj 


“ I thought thus to he more secure from observation, yet 
I believe that I had not escaped Nunziata’s watchful eye. 

‘ ‘ One night I had left our house to be present at a secret 
meeting, where I was to attain a higher degree in our society 
at the cost of a fresh oath, when, as I reached the place of 
my destination at the entrance of a side street, I perceived a 
dark shadow wrapped in a long cloak, which seemed to follow 
me at a little distance. I soon suspected that I had been 
tracked in the half-light, but when I turned round to discover 
who was following my steps the whole street was lonely, and 
not a trace of the black shadow was to be seen. 

“I entered by means of the password. The room was 
already full, and the devilish ceremonies began. 

“Orazio, I shall never forget that night. 

“I stood in the midst between my two witnesses, Silvio 
and another carhonaro. 

“ ‘Do you promise,’ said the old man, whom I had met 
in the house in the Ripetta^ ‘ do you promise to labor to the 
utmost of your power to uproot Christ and His Church and 
the very name of God from the face of the earth ?’ * 

“ ‘I promise,’ was my answer. 

“ ‘ Do you promise to overthrow all that bear the name of 
kaiser, king, and so forth V 
“ ‘ I promise.’ 

Do you promise to break every bond which binds you \ 
to kindred, family, people, and fatherland ?’ j 

“ ‘I promise*’ | 

“ ‘Finally, do you promise to use all your power to make “I 
every man his own god, the master of all creation, a blood- | 
thirsty wild beast, like the serpent and the lion of the J 
desert ?’ ^ 

“ ‘ I promise.’ % 

“ * Swear, then ;’ and drawing aside a curtain which cov- ; 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


139 


ered a kind of altar, he showed me a dagger between two 
burning torches. On one side was engraven Brotherhood ; 
on the other Death to Traitors; on the third Death to 
Tyrants. 

‘ ‘ The old man, after he had placed the dagger in my hand, 
laid it again upon the altar. 

“ Lay the palm of your hand on the point of this dagger, 
and say, ‘‘ I swear faithfully to fulfil my promise. When I 
become faithless to my oath, may the point of that dagger 
enter my heart. From this moment I give power to 
each member of the society who shall judge me unfaithful, to 
pierce my heart, as I will pierce his whom I shall find to be 
faithless to the society.’ ” 

“ I swore, and the old man kissed me on the forehead* It 
was the gulf of perdition. 

“ In a fervor of excitement, and almost unconscious from 
wine, I returned in the early morning to my home. I went 
softly to my room, hoping to conceal my absence from the 
family. 

“When I opened my door, I felt as if a lightning flash 
had blasted me. 

There, by the empty bed, sat my father^ immoveable, 
pale as death, with his eyes fixed upon the door. I drew 
back in terror. 

“ ‘ Do not draw back, Gennaro,’ said he, in a hollow voice. 
“Do you not know your father?’ 

“■ ‘What do these words mean, father ?’ stammered I. ‘Do 
I do not know my father ? What does this mean ?’ 

“ ‘ Gennaro,’ said he, without directly answering my 
question ; ‘ from whence do you come, Gennaro ?’ 

“From a walk, father,’ answered I, assuming a tone of 


See “Lionello,’’ c. vii., “Le Vendite.” c. viii., “II Giuramento,’ 


140 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


indifference. ‘ I did not feel very well in the night, and I 
went out to breathe the fresh air.’ 

“ ‘ You have been nowhere ?’ 

“ ‘ Nowhere,’ was my answer. 

“ ^It is false,’ answered he, in a voice of thunder. ‘Gen- 
naro, you come from a meeting of the carhonari. Gennaro, 
you are a member of the secret society. Shame ! shame ! a 
Bianchi a carhonaro,^ 

“ ‘ You lie, father,’ cried I furiously, the blood boiling in 
my veins with shame and anger. 

“‘Ah! ah I I lie?’ replied he, with bitter derision, ‘I 
lie ? My son is no carbonaro ; he has not stained the name 
of Bianchi with that indellible disgrace ; he has not leagued 
with the enemies of the Church, with the enemies of his 
country, with the enemies of our family. I lie, but, Gen- 
naro,’ continued he, producing a roll of papers, ‘ these papers 
do not lie. Ah ! there is no Bianchi a cm^bonaro 

“I glanced for a moment at the roll. It contained various 
papers and secret plans entrusted to me by the society, 
which, when I went out, I had thoughtlessly left lying on 
the table. 

“ I sprang forward like a chafed lion. 

“ ‘ Give me the papers,’ I cried in a hoarse voice. 

‘ ‘ He looked at me in mockery. 

“'I tried to take them from him by force ! 

“ The devil’s hour was at hand. I fell upon my old 
father’s body. He tried hard to keep possession of the 
papers. 

“ ‘ Let them go,’ I thundered furiously. 

‘ ‘ And I had dealt him so dreadful a blow on the breast 
with my fist, that he fell backwards on the ground, while a 
stream of blood fiowed from his mouth. 

“At the same momenti Nunziata, who had been aroused by 

|he mm of the strugj^lo, rushed into the room, 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


141 


“ ‘ G-ennaro ! Gennaro she screamed with a heart-rend- 
ing cry. ‘ Father ! father !’ 

“And she fell insensible on the old man’s body. 

“ I had become a devil. I wrenched the papers out of his 
hand and rushed out of the house. 

‘ ‘ I wandered like a lost spirit about Rome the whole of 
that day, and when evening came I stood once more at the 
door of our house. It seemed as if an avenging spirit drove 
me thither to see whether my crime had been fully accom- 
plished. 

“ Ah ! it was even so. 

“ When the door opened my brother Stefano stood before 
me. Stefano — whom I had always feared ; he was brave 
as a lion, prudent as a serpent, firm as a rock. 

“ ‘ Gennaro,’ said he in a suppressed voice^ ‘ my father 
died this day, and this was his last message — Gennaro, will 
you say farewell to the secret society T 

“I fiatly refused. He pressed me to no purpose ; what 
could make any impression upon a parricide ? 

“ ‘ Well, then, replied my brother, ‘since you feel no 
sorrow for your horrible crime, leave your country, break all 
the bonds which unite you to the family which you have dis- 
graced for ever, or I will deliver you to the hands of justice ; 
and mark what I sa}^ Gennaro, it is believed by all that 
Bernardo Bianchi died in a fit of appoplexy. If you were 
to depart immediately, it might arouse suspicion. I require 
you, therefore to remain a few days wdth us ; the honor of 
the family requires it. Ah !’ he continued with a bitter 
laugh, ‘ I know well that we are fostering a serpent, but w^oe 
to you if you harm us. I have taken precautions, Gennaro ; 
my blood, or the blood of my sister, will immediately be 
avenged on your own head. Meanwhile, if after a few days you 
leave your country, our lips shall remain as silent as the 


142 


tHE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


grave, that the name of Bianchi may remain untainted, at 
least before the eye of the world. ITo you agree to this, 
Gennaro T 

“‘Ido,’ answered I, too glad to leave this accursed 
place. 

“ ‘ Be it so,’ answered Stefano. ‘ Your heart is as hard 
stone, yet God grant that I may some day behold you peni- 
tent. Then, Gennaro, but never till then, will I give you 
the hand of a brother.’ 

The carhonaro paused for soDie moments in his narrative. 
The remembrance of those terrible days seemed to choke his 
utterance. 

“A few days after the funeral of my father, I left Borne, 
and sailed to England, with a mission of the Italian leaders. 

“I met Mazzini in London, and was incorporated with 
another secret society. 

“ So I hoped to stifle the remorse whose voice sounded con- 
tinually in my heart. 

“ I hurried onward. Hatred for everything good had 
become my very life, crime my delight, the ruin of other 
men my aim. It seemed as if I must light the fire which 
consumed my own heart in the hearts of nthers. 

‘ ‘ How many innocent youths have I dragged into the pit 
of freemasonry, and I clapped my hands with joy, and laughed 
like a devil over their fall ! 

“ From England, where I stayed but a short time, I went 
straight to Botterdam, to visit the Butch brothers, and from 
thence to Belgium, where I determined to remain for some 
years. 

By means of introductions from the English, Italian and 
Butch lodges, I soon became acquainted with a considerable 
number of freemasons. My new friends procured me several 
pupils in music and Italian, and I soon passed, under the 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES 


143 


false name of Tommaso di Roccabianca, for a first-rate teacher 
of both accomplishments. 

“ True to my calling, I added instructions in a third depart- 
ment. I gave lessons in perdition. I gained new adherents 
to freemasonry from among my pupils. 

“ I soon found my own master in one of them. 

He was a young man named Ernest Yan Dormacl. I 
had been ruined by my passions ; he was wicked from cold 
calculation. From time to time I heard the voice of remorse, 
and did evil to smother it ; he seemed never to have heard 
that voice, and did evil for evil’s sake. I never could uproot 
the belief in a God out of my heart ; he was an atheist, if an 
atheist ever existed. 

“Van Dormael was my inseperable companion. It did 
me good to find some one worse than myself — and yet he had 
not murdered his father. 

* ‘ But it was not needful ; his father had brought him up 
from a child in atheism. 

“ ‘ If it were to become necessary to you,’ I said to him one 
day^ ‘ to remove an obstacle from your path, would you shrink 
from murder T 

“ ‘Assuredly not,’ answered he coolly. 

‘ But suppose the man who stood in your way was your 
own father?’ 

“‘What then?’ replied he with the same coolness, ‘I 
would do the same. But murder is a means which I would 
very seldom employ. There are other ways of revenge which 
are blacker and strike harder.’ 

“ Truly, Orazio, I had found my master. 

“ The means which he most frequently used was slander, 
which he was skilled in directing against his opponents ; but 
it was slander on a large scale, not against private persons, 
but against whole classes. 


144 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


“He wrote in the newspapers. An unusual degree of 
cunning, a biting style, a great power of invention, enabled 
him SD to infuse his poison that the wounds inflicted by him 
were scarcely susceptible of a remedy. His sharpest arrows 
were always directed against Ecclesiastics, and Eeligious. 

“ He was one of the first members of the society of the 
^ Solida ires. ^ 

“ Such, in short, was the comrade whom hell seemed to 
have prepared for me in Belgium. 

“ Through him I made new acquaintances, and among 
them the family of Morren, consisting of three persons — 
father, mother and son. 

“The father was a pig-headed philosopher, who prided 
himself on preserving his reason free from all restraint. Not- 
withstanding all our endeavors he resisted freemasonry as 
stoutly as Christianity. In the conviction that he would 
never stand in our way we were contented to leave him to 
remain what he was, a free-thinker. 

“ The son, who had been brought up by his pious mother, 
and was left free by his father to follow out his religious 
principles, was, we soon saw, unapproachable by all our ; 
arts. \ 

“We pressed him no farther, and contented ourselves j 
with keeping up our friendly connection with- the elder Mor- j 
ren, till the day came when my indifierence with regard to | 
Victor — which was the name of the philosopher’s son — was ; 
changed to bloody hatred. 

“ One day, when we paid a visit to Morren, we found his 
nephew with him, a bigoted dreamer who had come to tell 
his uncle that he had just entered the Papal Service. The 
Italian cause was spoken of, I defended it to the best of my 
power; but in a stranger’s house I was naturally obliged to 
give way, at least, in appearance, to Victor and his cousin 
Joseph. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


145 


left Morren’s house in a frenzy. 

‘‘But this was not all ; the Papal bigot had spoken so well 
and so much that he persuaded Victor to bear him company. 
And Morren, the old philosopher, agreed to his son’s deter- 
mination. 

“ This was enough to induce me to leave Belgium and to 
return to my own country, in order, if possible, to stab both 
the dreamers to the heart. 

“ I found Victor in Borne. He was my chosen victim. 
Could I but accomplish his destruction, I would have left 
Joseph to some other carhonaro. 

‘ ‘ I induced my enemy to take a walk with me out of the 
city. The place was lonely ; it seemed made for my purpose. 
My dagger already gleamed above his head, when, suddenly, 
my brother Stefano stood between us, and robbed me of my 
revenge. 

‘ ‘ For a moment I hoped to plunge my dagger into his 
breast also. It was impossible ; there were two to one 
against me, Stefano the lion-hearted, and Victor who feared 
not death. My brother, still watchful over the honor of his 
family, spoke to me in the Neapolitan dialect lest he should 
be overheard and understood. He brought my old crime 
against me^ which was now to have been followed by another, 
asked me whether my heart was altogether shut against 
repentance, reminded me that I had broken the conditions 
imposed upon me, and lastly threatened me again with the 
hand of justice unless I would consent instantly to leave 
Borne. 

“From that moment my hatred against Victor was re- • 
doubled ; disappointed vengeance burned more fiercely in my 
bosom ; I swore to cool it in the blood of my enemy, cost 
what it might. 

“ I saw Silvio again, the evil demon of my youth. I com- 

13 


146 


THE DOUBLE SACEIFICE ; OR, 


mi tied my victim to him. He promised soon to make him 
acquainted with the point of his dagger ; hut he left Rome 
soon afterwards before he could fulfil his promise. 

‘‘ I fled without delay from the place, which seemed ever 
to bring the bloody name of parricide before me ; moreover, 
I feared Stefano, for I knew that he had the power to carry 
out his determination. I joined the bands of Garibaldi, 
hoping thus to find an opportunity of wreaking my long- 
suppressed vengeance, but when I heard of the invasion of 
the Papal States by the Piedmontese I hastened hither, truss- 
ing that I should at last find my enemy here.” 

Gennaro had finished his tale, which Orazio had never 
once interrupted. Hardened as he was, he seemed crushed 
at hearing the course of crime so coolly related by his com- 
rade. 

On Gennaro’s countenance nothing was to be read but a 
hellish joy which flashed from his eyes at the flattering hope 
of approaching vengeance. 

Orazio,” said he at last, I should not have told you 
all this had I not expected you to do me a service. I have 
a two-fold task before me; Joseph must die as well as Victor, 
and I shall not be half satisfied unless I see both those hateful 
beings stretched dead before me. Will you help me in the 
accomplishment of this joyful work ?” 

^‘Assuredly,” was the answer. “ But how shall we find 
them in the confusion of the battle ?” 

“Find them?” answered Gennaro, “I shall find them 
were they to hide themselves in hell itself. Trust to my 
hatred — and yet,” added he despondingly, “it failed me 
once. Well then,” he broke forth with fresh fury, “ death 
or vengeance for me to-morrow. But no, no ; I shall find 
them, I tell you once more; and then Joseph for you, do 
you hear, Orazio? but Victor^ Victor for me alone.” 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


147 


CHAPTER XIII. 

CASTELFIDARDO. 

was the 18th September of the year 1860. 
The martyrdom of the heroes of Castelfidardo 
was approaching. The commanders of the 
Papal troops had determined, after mature con- 
sideration, to make an attempt to break through the enemy’s 
forces on the side towards the sea, in order to make their 
way from Loretto to Ancona. 

It was the only chance left to them, and there were still 
many obstacles in the way. The river Musone rises amid 
the hills to the north of Loretto, and flows southward towards 
the sea, after having received the waters of a little rivulet 
called the Aspio. Both the Musone and the Aspio have very 
deep banks. 

Narrow valleys^ deeply overshadowed by trees, lie on each 
side of the Musone, and near the junction of the two rivers 
a plain of about three miles in extent divides the hill of Cas- 
telfidardo in two ; the vale of the Musone lying on one side, 
and that of the Aspio on the other. On the west, over 
against Loretto, lie the Cascine and the Crocette, where the 
battle raged most fiercely. 

The whole neighborhood around Loretto now swarmed with 
Piedmontese. On the side of Camerano, they commanded 
all the hill-tops and filled all the valleys. They had taken 
possession of the bridge over the Musone, where their bat- 
teries prevented all access. 

At about half-past eight in the morning, the first column 
of the Papal troops began its march under the command 
of General de Pimodan. The second followed at nine. 

The right bank of the Musone was not occupied. De 
Pimodan and his brave followers soon crossed the river ; and 



148 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


no sooner was the last piece of artillery lodged on the other 
side than the General commanded his men to take possession 
of two farms occupied by the Piedmontese on the height of 
Castelfidardo. With the impetuous speed and the irresistible 
force of lightning, the Zouaves, with a hundred Irish and 
the vanguard of the Roman chasseurs, rushed upon the 
enemy’s hersaglieri ; the bullets rained upon them, but the 
brave fellows flinched not. They fell upon the Piedmontese 
column, beat them back, and took a hundred prisoners, 
among whom was one officer. They placed two pieces of cannon 
on the hill to defend their position from possible attack, and 
planted two howitzers, under the command of Lieutenant 
Daudier, before the house. 

Four cannons and two howitzers of the battery of Richter, 
were now placed upon the height, from which Colonel Blu- 
menstile directed a murderous Are upon the enemy, while 
Daudier, by his courage and military skill, made up for the 
deficiency of the Papal artillery. Captain Richter had been 
wounded by a ball, yet he would not forsake his post. 

The moment was come to fall upon the second farm-house ; 
De Pimodan gave the word of command, and his chosen little 
band advanced with heroic courage. 

But alas ; they knew not with what overpowering numbers 
They had to deal. A whole army awaited them in the wood 
behind. A hailstorm of bullets and balls gave the brave 
assailants so terrible a reception that they were compelled to 
retreat. 

The enemy followed them, but at the moment they ap- 
proached the Papal position the little company turned upon 
them, received them with a well directed fire, and then 
attacked them at the point of the bayonet. 

Astonished at their determination, the Piedmontese, though , 
far more numerous than their assailants, retreated and left 
the soldiers of De Pimodan once more in possession of the 
place. f 




THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


149 


But the general was wounded, his face was pale and 
streaked with blood. 

‘‘ Forward !” cried he unmoved, “forward, boys 

“Long live De Pimodan !” shouted they. 

“Do not shout,’’ he answered, “but forward !” 

A second ball broke his right arm — he grasped his sword 
with the left. 

“Forward, boys!” cried he once more; “God is with 
us !” 

De Becdelievre, on foot, in the midst of his men, with his 
arms carelessly crossed on his breast, was giving his orders 
composedly. On a third attack, De Pimodan received a 
third bullet in his leg. 

“Boys,” cried he, immoveable on his saddle, “God is 
with us ! Forward !” 

But the Sardinians poured down upon them like a flood. 
Tha Zouaves fought like lions, but the Swiss and the cav- 
alry, broken and beaten down by the Are, retreated in dis- 
order. 

Daudier at last stood alone, all his soldiers, (so writes 
Tresvaux de Fraval) were slain or fugitives. A field piece 
was standing about fifty paces from the enemy. 

“Tresvaux, cried Daudier^ “let us save the cannon.” 

Tresvaux hastened on, followed by Le Camus, De Saint 
Brieux, and a third, of their countryman, under a shower 
of balls. With the help of Daudier, they unfastened the 
cannon, dragged it over the brow of the hill, and made their 
way back to their comrades. 

The battle raged fiercely and furiously. On one side were 
two hundred brave hearts which knew not how to retreat ; 
on the other side fresh hordes of Sardinians seemed to rise 
from the earth. The two hundred heroes lost not courage. 
But, alas] every attack thinned their numbers. 

13 * 


150 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


De Pimodan ordered a fresh assault. They rushed for- 
ward and threw themselves manfully on the enemy. But a 
bullet struck the general on the right side, passed through 
his body, and made its way out on the left side. It was his 
death wound. 

“Benneville,” said he, reeling in his saddle, “I am dying. 
Go and collect our Chasseurs.''^ 

Among the combatants at Castclfidardo was the noble- 
hearted Ernest Maestraeten, a medical student of Louvain. 

‘‘During the battle/’ he wrote afterwards to his parents 
from Alessandria, I filled two offices — those of sergeant and 
of surgeon. Our field hospital was erected about five- hun- 
dred paces from the line of battle. I went from the battal- 
ion to the hospital, carrying the wounded, firing my piece, 
using my bayonet, or binding wounds — in short, discharging 
any office which came to hand.” 

De Pimodan was brought to our brave countryman, who 
was at work with another medical man. His body was cov- 
ered with blood. 

The surgeon had just begun, with Maestrae ten’s assistance, 
to bind up the General’s wounds, when the Pontifical soldiers 
were compelled to retreat, crushed by the overpowering num- 
bers of the Piedmontese. The doctor observed the danger. 

“ Maestraeten,” said he in terror, “ it is time to depart.” 

“ Never,” answered the noble young man ; “ never will I 
leave our General and the rest of our wounded.” 

The surgeon made no answer and took his departure. 

“ It is unnecessary,” wTites Maestraeten, “'to tell you that 
he was no Belgian.” 

The brave Zouave, himself slightly wounded, remained 
thus alone with his dying general and wounded comrades'. 

It was a heart-rending sight. They were about thirty 
men, officers and soldiers. The wounds of some were being 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


151 


dressed, others waiting their turn ; blood was streaming on 
every side. Pain wrung sharp cries even from these brave 
hearts. 

The Piedmontese soon surrounded the house, and they 
who had accused the Zouaves so falsely, shamed not to give 
the rein to their treacherons cruelty. The black flag was 
hoisted, and nevertheless, the cowardly assailants fired through 
doors and windows ten times on the poor wounded suflerers, 
happily without much effect. There was nothing now left 
but to surrender. 

The noble De Pimodan, so justly compared by Brcsclani 
to Judas Machabeus, fully knew the extent of his danger, 
and awaited death with marvellous tranquility. Cialdini 
consented, at his request, that Maestraeten should remain 
with him to the end. 

Alas ! the end was not far off. “ De Pimodan,’’ so wrote 
one of our countrymen to his parents, suffered fearfully, 
and bore his sufferings with the courage and patience of a 
martyr. He breathed his last about midnight.” 

God had crowned his soldier. 

To return to the field of battle. The commander-in-chief 
of the Pontifical army had endeavored to form the fugitives 
behind the dyke and round the house, where they were shel- 
tered from the batteries. It was all in vain. 

He then gave orders to retreat behind the heights of the 
Musone, crossing the river to proceed to Umana, and returned 
to the farm-house, where for the last time he shook hands with 
his brave friend, De Pimodan. 

General,” said the dying man, “ they fight like heroes ; 
the honor of the Church is saved. Farewell.” 

De Lamoriciere commanded the retreat to be sounded, and 
directed Colonel Coudenhoven to proceed to the farm, and, as 
it could no longer be defended, to lead the troops still re- 


152 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


maining there towards the river, hut to do everything in his 
power to save the heavy artillery. They fought like lions. 
At last but eight able-bodied Zouaves were left in the farm- 
house of the Crocette, the last defenders of two-and-twenty 
wounded, but they kept the place for a whole hour against 
the assault of more than a thousand Piedmontese. 

They saw the straw and faggot-wood burning on the barn- 
floor. The slightest wind might carry the flames to the farm- 
house, and yet they flinched not. They fired and fired inces- 
santly, and every shot struck down an enemy. 

“ Fire yonder T’ cried Dhont, and the Sardinian whom he 
pointed out fell to the ground ; so fell one-and-twenty, one 
after the other. 

The fire-arms were so hot that there was danger of their 
bursting in the hand. The ground was strewn with corpses. 

The eight champions still continued to deal death around 
them. They were fearful to look upon as they stood there, 
like spirits of vengeance, covered with sweat and black with 
gunpowder, with flashing eyes, close-pressed lips, and pant- 
ing breath. 

At last a canon-shot was heard, which carried away half 
the roof. A ball fell into the room. Instantly the floor 
shakes, the walls burst, the room is filled with smoke, and 
the flames press greedily through the opening. The Pied- 
montese finding it impossible to take that fearful place, had 
set it on fire. 

‘ ‘ Surrender cried a voice from without. 

** Rather die a thousand deaths,” answered Le Camus and 
Tresvaux. 

But the flames rage faster and more fiercely, the beams 
crack, the suppressed cries of the wounded are heard* 

Then the fury of those invincible lions gave place to com- 
passion. A white handkerchief was hoisted on the stock of 


1:he pontifical zouaves. 


153 


a musket. The Piedmontese ceased firings and the Zouaves 
placed the most severely wounded on their shoulders, and 
carried them through smoke and flame out of the burning 
house. 

They looked around them ; the Pontifical camp was de- 
stroyed. 

Our honor is unstained,’’ cried they. “ Blessed are the 
dead. They are already with God.” 

Thus ended this fearful battle, wherein a-ll the glory re- 
mained with the conquered, and eternal shame was the meed 
of the conqueror. 

Belgium had her full share of the honor of the day. 

Two illustrious conquerors have borne their testimony in 
other times to the valor of her sons. 

“ Of all these tribes,” wrote Cassar, “the Belgians are 
the bravest.” 

“ Send me Belgians,” wrote the Christian conqueror, S. 
Francis Xavier. 

The Belgians of our day have not degenerated from the 
fame of their fathers. 

The waters of the Musone ran red with the blood of the 
chivalrous houses of Flanders mingled with that of her sim- 
ple faithful burghers. 

Their names are too many to be recorded here. 

Among the survivors of this fearful battle we find the name 
of an English student of the College of S. Louis, at Bruges 
Henry Woodward, then a boy of sixteen, who having been at 
first incorporated among the Irish Volunteers had left them 
to serve as a private soldier among the Zouaves. The fol- 
lowing letter conveyed to his parents the history of the en- 
gagement and of his subsequent perils and sufferings : 


154 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


“St. Jean de Maurianne, Savoy. 

“ October 13, 1860. 

“ My dear Father and Mother, — I take the very first op- 
portunity of writing to you. I say the very first, because, 
since the 12th of September we have been marching. Many 
things have happened since then. I have been first asoldier_, 
then I have been in battle, then a fugitive, then a prisoner, 
and then set at liberty 

‘ ‘ I will tell you how all this happened. Soon after I 
wrote to say that I was entering the Franco-Beiges, the bat- 
talion passed through Spoleto. It was late at night. I saw 
the Major Becdelievre, and the next morning I started at 
three o’clock. We marched about thirty miles that day, then 
reposed for about six hours, marched twenty-five miles more, 
and so on. We arrived at last nearLoretto, and learned that 
the Piedmontese were about three miles ofi*. We camped. At , 
night prayers were said- the Priest gave us absolution, for ^ 
the next day the battle was to take place — and then we went to ] 
bed. An attack was expected all night, but nothing happened. ! 
The next morning we started, after having eaten our day’s .] 
allowance. After about one mile and a half we crossed a 
river, but scarcely had we passed when the Piedmontese set 
up an awful fire. We dashed at them, firing as we went 
along. They retired up a very high mountain where they 
had about 40,000 men, and six cannon per regiment. We : 
had in one division 6,000 men and three cannon, and in 
another eight cannon and 5,000 men. The last division did 
not fire a shot. We dashed up the hill, firing all the way, 1 
sometimes from behind a tree, sometimes lying in a ditch, 
running a hundred yards on our hands and feet. We got 
half-way up to a house where the most awful firing took place. 
All the Piedmontese artillery were thundering on us. We 
had but two cannons ^ but all our shots told well. We had j 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


155 


Minie rifles, which were very good. We picked ofi* many a 
Piedmontese rifleman between us and the wood. In the wood 
was a Piedmontese division, so that all our balls that missed 
a rifleman outside killed each his man in the wood. Near 
the house I spoke of above were some haystacks which 
we set on fire. Behind these we kept up an awful fire. 
The Piedmontese were not fifty yards from us. I am sure 
of two men ; I killed them as dead as door-nails. One 
was just taking aim when I knocked him over. The battle 
was getting very hot, and there were only about 1,500 men 
of the Papal army ; the Italian battalion did nothing but fire 
on us. At last we were obliged to run, we were so few, and 
we went down the mountain. The Piedmontese set up an 
awful fire of grape-shot, &c. At last we got out of reach, 
and everybody went his way. About a mile off I met some 
French fellows of our battalion, and off we set together. 
We travelled about one hundred miles on foot through the 
mountains, sleeping sometimes in the open air, sometimes in 
a church, &c. I suffered greatly ; my feet were one mass of 
blisters. It would be too long to tell you all we went through. 
But at last I was taken prisoner by the Piedmontese. At 
first they treated me very well, but afterwards very badly. 
They led us all through Italy. At Spoleto I received the 
money you sent me. They then sent us by land to Leghorn, 
from that by sea to Genoa, from that to Turin, then to Suze, 
where we were set at liberty. At Turin, to get off, I was 
put down as a Frenchman, and received a French passport to 
Lille.’’ 

Chambery, October 14, 1860. 

“ Not having had time I resume my letter at Chambery. 
After leaving Turin I went by train to Suze. From thence 
we started for France. The first day we went through the 
Alps, passing Mount Cenis; the cold was awful. We arrived 


156 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


at Lanslebourg, passed the night there, and marched on to 
Modan. Next morning we marched on to S. Jean Maurianne, 
and from thence to Chamherry. Here I intend to stay till 
you send me money ; please send it hy return of post, as I 
have not a halfpenny left. If nothing between turn up, I 
shall enter an hospital till I receive it. I hope to be home very 
soon — in four or five days after the receipt of your letter. 
As for my future prospects, I intend returning to Home, for 
the Pope is getting up another army, and I should like to 
have another crack at the Piedmontese. 

“ Good bye, dear Father and Mother, &c., &c. 

‘‘ Your dutiful and affectionate son, 

“ Henry Woodward. ♦ 
“ P.S. — Most of the French of our battalion are going | 
direct back to Home. . 

A Monsieur J. H. Woodward, a Bruges.’’* 


*A younger brother of the same family is now in the Pontifical Army. — 
Translator's Note. 


5 



THE PONTIB’ICAL ZOUAVES. 


157 


CHAPTEE Xiy. 



THE CARBONARO’S REVENGE AND THE CHRISTIANAS REVENGE. 

HE storm was over, but the poor flowers lay 
broken and crushed. The heroic commander of 
the Pontifical soldiers had carried his resolve 
into execution. He had, though with but a 
small remnant of his brave army, made his way through the 
countless hosts of the enemy, and before nightfall had 
reached the fortress of Ancona. 

‘‘ When Be Lamoriciere saw all was lost,’’ writes our noble 
countryman. Be Eesimont, “ he called us together. We had 
all remained on the field of battle. As soon as we had 
received his command we set off, two and two, at full gallop, 
to avoid being surrounded. 

‘ ‘ The way was impracticable for cavalry^ but this did not 
hinder us. We flew over hedges and ditches. To my great 
amazement, only three or four of us were thrown from the 
saddle, but they came off with a whole skin, and with only 
the loss of their horses. 

We soon came to the sea-shore, for the Piedmontese had 
already occupied the high roads which we should naturally 
have taken. A regiment of lancers was soon in full gallop 
at our heels. 

‘ ‘ Caught between two fires^ and not numerous enough to 
have any hope to withstand the masses of the enemy, we 
closed our ranks behind the General, and made all speed to 
the mountains. The roads were frightful. We were obliged 
to dismount and to lead our horses by the bridle. 

After an hour’s painful march, we came to the Convent 
of the Camaldolese, where we could hear the bombardment 
of Ancona. Our position was perilous ; we knew not whether 
14 


158 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


Ancona was beleaguered by land. Eetreat was impossible. 
Forwards! We proceeded without impediment.” 

Meanwhile the remaining division of the Papal army re- 
treated to Loretto, and Mary’s temple soon swarmed with the 
wounded and the dying. 

The brave heroes of Christendom who had come hither 
that morning to receive strength unshrinkingly to meet their 
martyrdom, now returned to ask the Queen of Martyrs to ob- 
tain strength for them to remain steadfast unto the end. 

Glorious heroes of Christendom ! at once lions and lambs. 

Lions, by the testimony of their enemies. 

These troops,” said Cialdini, in a report to General Cuc- 
chiari, ‘ ‘ fell upon us furiously. The conflict was short, but 
fierce and bloody.” 

Lambs, in the tender compassion which more than once 
stayed the deadly bullet in its course. 

** Ah !” said they to one another, “ I cannot shoot at that 
poor boy yonder. Perhaps he has got a mother who will weep 
over him. I cannot find it in my heart to kill him.”* 

Victor and his two comrades had distinguished themselves 
among the lions and the lambs. They belonged to the same 
company and fought bravely side by side. As Martin had 
truly said, the enemy soon found that they had no helpless 
flock of sheep to slaughter, for with his own hand alone he 
had struck many a Piedmontese to the ground. 

His giant stature seemed to grow in the conflict ; his usually 
calm eyes glowed with fire, his vigorous arm directed his 
musket with unerring aim, and poured death and destruction 
on the heads of the enemy. 

Victor and Joseph kept close by his side, and directed their 
aim with such accuracy that every shot brought down an 
enemy. The three seemed to be endued with supernatural 


* See Segur, “Les Martyrs de Castelfidardo,” p. 49. 1861. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


159 


strengtl’. The bullets hissed about their ears ; they saw and 
heard nothing but the enemy. Several times a hostile party 
had attacked the three heroes, and as often had been forced 
to retreat from the deadly fire which greeted all assailants, 
and laid them in the dust. 

At last they were compelled, with the rest of their com- 
panions, to give away before the numbers by which they were 
overmatched. 

Martin retreated slowly, and step by step. It seemed to 
cost him dear to leave the position once taken up. 

When he at last joined the rest of his companions he missed 
his two friends. 

‘‘Joseph! Victor!’’ he cried, in a tone of bitter self-re- 
proach, “I have forsaken you! Mother, mother! shall I 
no longer be able to watch over them according to your bid- 
ding ?” 

Without a moment’s delay the brave fellow hastened, if 
possible, at the cost of his life, to fulfil the duty of gratitude. 

Meanwhile, Victor and Joseph, in the disorder of retreat, 
had been separated from their comrade. They had just 
reached the skirts of a wood beyond the reach of the enemy’s 
fire, when Joseph, turning, perceived that they were closely 
pursued by two Piedmontese. Flight was impossible. The 
enemy, at full speed, were but a few paces from them. 
Moreover, the numbers were not unequal. 

“Victor!” cried Joseph, “to arms! AVe are pursued.” 
But before they could place themselves on the defensive, two 
soldiers fell upon them, sword in hand. 

“Ah! cowardly bigots, I have found you at last. This 
is the hour of my vengeance.” 

It was Gennaro, with his worthy accomplice Orazio. 

Had some demon set him on their track ? 

Now began a struggle for life or death. 


160 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


All was still around, but in the far distance a dropping fire 
was heard from the Piedmontese camp. 

Qennaro had fallen upon Victor. Joseph defended himself 
against Orazio. 

Joseph for you, but Victor — but Victor for me alone, was 
the injunction laid on his friend by the carbonaro. 

The two Zouaves defended themselves manfully. Orazio 
found Joseph a formidable antagonist. The Piedmontese, 
though an experienced soldier, found all his blows so skilfully 
warded off, that he had not been able to make one of them 
tell upon his opponent. 

But fearful was the spectacle of the conflict between Victor 
and Grennaro. Victor had hitherto defended himself success- 
fully, and Gennaro was furious at finding all his efforts inef- 
fectual. The carbonaro^ s eyes started frightfully out of his 
head, the veins of his forehead were swollen, his lips were 
pressed tight together, and ever and anon a hoarse sound 
escaped his throat, like the howl of a wild beast of the wil- 
derness. 

Gradually Victor’s defence lost energy. The poor youth 
was overcome with deadly fatigue, and the fire which had en- 
kindled his soul in the conflict for the Church, seemed in a 
great measure to have forsaken him now that he had to fight 
in self-defence, and at the risk of his adversary’s soul. What 
was life to him, that he should purchase it by the everlasting 
perdition of the miserable Gennaro ? 

Nevertheless, at one moment^ Gennaro, by an unwary 
movement^ fell to the ground, and Victor’s sword already 
flashed over his head. But the noble-hearted Zouave drew 
back his arm. 

“ Nunziata, Stefano,” cried he, shall I murder your 
brother ?” 

The carbonaro was on his feet again . He had heard his 
enemy’s exclamation, which only redoubled his fiendish fury. 




\ 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVEfe. 


161 


Murder ?” echoed he, ‘‘ one of us two shall die this day.’’ 
With renewed frenzy he struck at his adversary, who now 
defended himself with difficulty. 

Ah ! Gennaro, is this the hour of your vengeance now come 
indeed? 

On the other side the conflict still continued. Joseph had 
at last dealt his enemy a severe wound, hut the sight of his 
blood excited Orazio to fresh efforts. His sword flashed 0:1 
every side, and, and threatened the brave Yan Dael in every 
direction. Suddenly blood flowed over the Zouave’s face ; 
the Piedmontese had wounded him on the forehead. Joseph 
faltered for a moment, but recovered himself immediately, 
and then was heard a loud cry, and, like a thunderbolt, a 
blow fell with crushing force upon Orazio’s head, which 
stretched him upon the ground, while a stream of blood 
poured from his mouth. His skull was literally shattered. 

It was Martin who had come so suddenly to the rescue. 

This unexpected aid did not escape Gennaro. Must he 
miss his aim once more ? 

He sprang like a tiger upon Victor, whose attention had 
been, moreover, distracted by the scene which had been pass- ^ 
ing at his side. 

He sprang upon him like a tiger, and plunged his sword 
with a cry of fiendish joy into his breast. 

Victor uttered a piercing cry, and fell upon the green 
turf. 

But Martin had heard it. 

“Ah I coward!” thundered he; “ murderer, now for you. 

And with the speed of lightning he flew upon the carbonaro^ 
who had already stooped to deal his victim another blow. 

“Hands off! vile robber !” cried Martin, and struck Gen-* 
jaaro so mighty a blow that he rolled upon the grounds 


162 


^HE DOUBLE sacrifice; OR, 


But the carhonaro sprang once more to his feet, and fell 
with fiendish rage upon his new adversary. 

Joseph, in the meanwhile, had hastened to Victor. He 
thought no more of his own wound, which indeed was slight, 
for Orazio’s sword had not pierced far into the fiesh. 

The carbonard s victim lay motionless. Ilis clothes were 
covered with blood, which was still streaming from his wound. 

“ Victor, dear Victor,’’ said Joseph weeping, “ come back 
again to life. Must you die so sad a death ?’’ 

He tore his poor friend’s handkerchief, and tried as well as 
he could to stop the blood. Victor was wounded in the 
breast near the heart, perhaps in the heart. 

Gennaro and Martin were no longer fighting, but wrest- 
ling ; they were twined together like two snakes. 

The carhonaro felt in his bosom for a dagger — the favorite 
weapon of the assassin. At last it glittered between his 
fingers. 

Just at that moment Martin had freed his right arm. He 
saw the traitorous steel, and dealt a tremendous blow with his 
fist. Gennaro fell, and a stream of blood flowed from liis 
mouth. The giant had fulfilled his task. 

“ Our poor friend is avenged,” said he to Joseph. 

“ Hush !” answered Joseph, who was busy making a ban- 
dage for Victor’s wound. 

They both listened attentively. A faint breathing was 
perceptible. 

“ God ! God !” cried Joseph ; “ Oh ! I thank Thee. Mar- 
tin, he is still alive. Come, let us pray to our good Mother 
for his recover3^” 

And the two young men, but now such fierce warriors, 
knelt down humbly with their faces turned towards Loretto. 

After a short prayer, they rose again to see what they could 
do for their comrade. 


i 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAYES. 


163 


A little stream flowed at a short distance. Martin sprinkled 
Victor’s forehead with the water, and slowly, very slowly, he 
came to himself. 

At* last he opened his eyes. 

“ Where am I ?” said he in a feeble voice, while he looked 
round bewildered. 

His eye fell upon the body of the carhonaro. 

“ Ah ! Gennaro!” he cried, weeping ; “ poor youth ! Ste- 
fano ! Nunziata !” 

And he tried to drag himself towards his cruel adversary. 

Both his comrades tried to keep him back. 

“No, no,” he implored, “rather help me forward. Ilis 
soul ! 0 God ! his soul ! Perhaps he is still alive.” 

Indeed they heard a painful gurgling in Gennaro’s throat. 
He seemed to be returning to consciousness 

“ Joseph, Martin, help!” cried Victor. “ He, lives and 
I have not yet avenged myself.” 

He stood upright^ and staggered to the carhonaro 

His friends sprang forward to restrain him. 

“Victor,” they cried, “ leave him, it is too late. We must 
take care of our own safety.” 

“ His soul ! His soul !” was their comrade’s only answer. 

He knelt down by the dying man. 

“ Gennaro, friend!” said he gently. 

“ Who calls me friend, here ?” said the wounded man, in 
a scarcely audible voice, while he opened his eyes. “ Has 
the poor exile friends still ?” 

“ I am your friend,” was the answer ; “ I — Victor. Gen- 
naro, do you not know me ?” 

“Victor?” answered the Italian furiously; “Victor? 
You lie ; I have killed him. Leave me in peace; I die 
avenged.” 

“ You are mistaken, Gennaro; God did not suffer your 
gword to kill me, and now I am here to help to save you,” ^ 


164 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


The carhonaro opened his eyes wide, and looked wildly in 
his face. 

Are you Victor?” said he. ‘^No, I have murdered 
him ; it is his ghost which comes back from the dead to tor- 
ture me ! Away, venomous snake 1 Ah, leave me alone, 
you stifle me !” and a flood of black blood choked his utter- 
ance. He had closed his eyes again. 

“ God! God!” sighed Victor; he is dying and without 
repentance !” 

He wept bitter tears at the terrible thought. Joseph and 
Martin stood gazing darkly and silently at the fearful spec- 
tacle. A few paces distant lay the lifeless body of Orazio. 

If they could have looked into the w^orld of spirits, they 
would have doubtless seen the angels of Heaven gazing in 
silent wonder on Victor’s sublime revenge. 

He bent once more over the unhappy man’s body. 

“ Gennaro ! brother! the Lord calls you to repentance.” 

‘‘The Lord?” was the mournful answer. “ Oh I I see 
Him plainly ! But He threatens me — He has His thunder- 
bolt ready — He will cast me into hell !” 

“ No, Gennaro ; He threatens only to bring you to repen- 
tance.” 

“ It is too late,” muttered the carhonaro. “ There is no 
repentance for me. I have hated and blasphemed all that is 
good — I am a reprobate ; let me die in peace !” 

“ Gennaro !” said Victor, gently, “ think of your brother, 
your sister— of Stefano and Nunziata.” 

‘ ‘ Away with Stefano and Nunziata ! They are serpents ; 
they drove me forth — they have made me a vagabond upon 
earth !” 

“ Gennaro think of your old father, of your mother, 
who — ” 

“ Ah, ah !” with a ghastly laugh. “ My father! There 

he is. See, he is stained with blood, and he takes his hand 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


165 


full of blood, and flings it into my face. Ah, my father ! 
Do you know who murdered him ? I — I did it. I, Gen- 
i naro, the reprobate! Do you not see the blue mark on his 
I breast ? Ah 1 I struck the blow. I — Gennaro. the repro-^ 
! bate I” 

I The wretched man was raving. 

j ‘‘ And I have killed others,’’ he continued. “There, by 
I my father, stands Victor Morren ; he fell by my hand. See I 
I he uncovers his breast ; horrible Are streams from it — and 
I from his eyes — and from his mouth — Are to destroy me ! 

; Fire I Fire !” 

I And the miserable parricide wallowed in his blood. 

It was frightful to look upon. Victor wept, and big tears 
I rolled down Martin’s and Joseph’s cheeks, 
i “No human help will avail,” sighed Victor. “ Brothers, 
let us pray. Will God refuse me the sweet delight of my 
revenge ?” 

They prayed. 

j Gennaro was gasping ; his hour was near. 

“ Forestall the hour of justice, be it for a moment,” Nun- 
ziata had said. 

Yet could there be salvation for a reprobate like Gennaro, 
thus suddenly called to his account ? 

Ah I is not the mercy of the Lord boundless ? 

After a while the dying man opened his eyes. 

He seemed to have received fresh strength. 

Did this forebode impending death ? 

It was indeed approaching death. It was the last glimpse 
of departing life. 

The carbonaro looked round wildly, but he seemed some- 
what softened. 

“ What has happened?” gasped he with difficulty. “Oh, 
Heaven!” he cried, after a short pause, “ I have murdered 
an innocent man.” 


166 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


He tried to hide his face with his hands, but his arms 
fell powerless by his side. 

Victor sat down by him again. The last words had given 
him a glimpse of hope. 

He gently supported the fainting head. 

“ Be of good comfort friend,’’ he whispered gently in his 
ear. “ You have not murdered me, and I am here by your 
side to offer you forgiveness.” 

“You forgive me?” and the words struggled with tlio 
death-rattle in Gennaro’s throat. “Impossible! And even 
so, what would it avail me ? God has no forgiveness for a 
lost soul, like mine.” 

“ Be silent, friend ; you speak blasphemy, Gennaro. I, 
a poor, miserable man^ forgive you from my heart, and will 
the God of boundless mercy refuse you His forgiveness ? 
Ah ! my brother, He asks nothing of you but a sigh of true 
repentance to press you to His Fatherly Heart as a lost but 
returning child. Oh 1 Gennaro, shut your ears no longer to 
the voice of his love.” 

“My God! my God!” sobbed Bianchi, while tears — tin 
first he had shed for many a long year — ran down his 
cheeks, “ is it not then impossible ? And you said you for- 
give me — you, whom I have so cruelly persecuted, even to 
death.” 

“ Give me your hand, brother,” said Victor. 

Gennaro drew it back in horror. 

“ No no ; that hand is stained with your blood.” 

But Victor held it fast, and covered it with kisses and 
tears. 

The sinner’s heart was changed ; Christian love had tri- 
umphed over the hatred of hell. The hour of grace had 
forestalled the hour of justice. 

Then death, as if it had been withheld by a higher power, 
claimed his prey. 


TUE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


167 


Victor, good Victor !” said Gennaro in broken accents 
“ I am dying — forgiveness — pray for me, the poor sinner- 
father — forgiveness. Say to Stefano and Nunziata — that I 
ask their forgiveness — that I — my God — Jesus — Mary — ’’ 

His head fell heavily on Victor’s arm. Gennaro Bianchi 
was no more ! 

Mysterious depths of the judgments of God ! They lay 
there both motionless and dead, Gennaro and the accomplice 
of his revenge. 

The one had died without a single cry of repentance — a 
single prayer of mercy. 

And the other — he that had framed the hellish plan, and 
pursued it with fiendish obstinacy even to the end — had 
heard suddenly in that awful moment the call of grace, and 
his soul had left its earthly tabernacle with a prayer which 
reached the heart of his Judge, and forbade Him to con- 
demn it. 

The one was taken and the other left. 

Was it not because prayers had been offered for the un- 
happy Gennaro, and because prayer is all-powerful; above 
all, the prayer of the just for the salvation of the lost soul. 
Stefano, Nunziata, Victor — could the Lord have rejected 
your prayers and your tears ? And the grey-haired father 
who stood by the throne of the Most High, the victim of his 
paternal care and love, so cruelly slain by the hand of the 
son whom he was striving to recall to the path of duty — how 
could the prayer of his love and of his sorrow fail to find an 
echo in the tenderest of all hearts — the Heart of the Victim 
of Golgotha — of Him who was crucified by His erring chil- 
dren, and who, for the salvation of those erring children, 
gave His Blood and His Life. 

A confiict had been waged between Victor and Gennaro, 
wherein the first must needs have been triumphant — a confiict 


168 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


between Christian love and fiendish hate. Could Christian love 
fail to gain the victory ? and would Victor’s triumph have 
been complete if he had been disappointed of his enemy’s 
conversion ? Had he not devoted himself to death, rather 
than expose his enemy to an eternity of misery ? Could the 
Lord refuse so heroic a sacrifice ? 

No. Prayer and love had robbed hell of its prey. 

Victor was still bending over the body of the penitent 
carhoiiaro. 

His companions knelt and prayed for the repose of the poor 
sinner. 

Victor tenderly closed the eyes of the departed, while tears 
of love and compassion, precious as pearls in God’s sight, 
fell upon his face. 

He imprinted a kiss upon the dead lips. 

“Sleep sweetly, poor friend,” said he, ‘'‘and God grant 
that I may be able to carry your last words to Stefano and 
Nunziata.” ! 

Then a dark film seemed to cover his eyes, he turned 
deadly pale, and fell fainting to the ground. 

He had forgotten his own sufferings in laboring for the 
everlasting salvation of his enemy. Charity had given him ] 
strength to overcome the anguish of his wound, but his task i 
was now accomplished, and nature again claimed the as- | 
cendancy. 

Joseph and Martin sprang to his assistance. They gently 
raised his head, and sprinkled his face with fresh water from 
the stream. 

It was fruitless. 

“ Woe is me 1” cried Joseph ; “he is dying.” 

Martin wrung his hands in despair. 

“My God!” he cried, “take me in his place. Poor 
mother ! Unhappy father 1 What a blow, what a sorrow 
for you !’^ 


THE rONTIElCAL ZOUAVES. 


160 


“Victor, dear Victor,’’ whispered Joseph in his ear. 

4-nd he pressed his hand. 

The hand seemed to thrill to his touch, and Joseph uttered 
a joyful cry when Victor once more feebly opened his eyes. 

The two comrades bent over him 

“Friends,” he gasped with a broken voice, “hiy last hour 
is at hand ; I feel it. 1 beseech you fly, and take care of 
your own safety.” 

“ And you, Victor?” said Martin. 

“I shall die here. Far from my fatherland, indeed, but 
near the Holy House of Loretto Go on at once, broth- 
ers, for the enemy may return and make you prisoners.” 

“ Leave you?” was the answer of both, “ never, never.” 

I have only a few moments more to live.” 

“Never, never.” 

“’Look here,” said Martin, “the Piedmontese may come 
when they like, but not a step do I stir from this place.” 

The wounded man shed tears of gratitude over this proof 
of faithful attachment. 

Suddenly a sound of approaching troops was heard in the 
distance. 

The Zouaves listened attentively. 

It was indeed a division of the enemy, in search of any 
remaining fugitives whom they might make prisoners. 

“Good heavens i” cried Joseph, “the Piedmontese are 
upon us. My God ! my God 1 what "an we do ?” 

“Oh I my friends, go ! go !” replied Victor ; “leave me to 
my fate.” 

“ Without you ? Never.” 

“ God will protect me.” 

“We will not leave you.” 

“ At all events, my sufferings cannot last long.” 

‘ ‘ I stir not one step from this place,” said Martin positively. 

15 


170 


THE DOUBLE SACllIEICE ; OR, 


Carry me into the wood, and perhaps I shall escape 
their hands.” 

*‘To die there, cried Joseph, “alone and forsaken like a 
helpless beast — like a worthless dog ? God would never for- 
give us.” 

The steps of the approaching band sounded nearer and 
nearer. 

Joseph and Martin stirred not. 

“Fly! Fly!” cried Victor. ‘'‘Friends, I implore you, 
endanger yourselves no longer for one who is passed all hope 
of recovery.” 

The danger became pressing ; any farther delay must make 
escape impossible. 

Suddenly a light seemed to strike Martin. 

“ Victor,” said he, “ would you have strength enough to 
bear the fatigue of the flight if I were to carry you on mv 
shoulders ?” 

“Perhaps so, but to what purpose, brothers ? I should 
only be a hindrance to you. * I beg you therefore once more j 
to go and leave me in the hands of God.” j 

“ Never, Victor; we stir not without you.” 

“Be it so, then,” answered the wounded man, whose 
hopes that his two comrades would be thus preserved seemed 
to give him new strength. 

“ By God’s help, then,” said Martin; and with Joseph’s 
assistance he placed the dying man on his broad shoulders. 

Victor cast a last glance on Gennaro’s body. 

“ Farewell, poor Gennaro,” said he, “we shall soon meet 
again.” 

Martin, followed by Joseph, set ofi* at full speed with his 
precious burden into the wood, and soon disappeared among 
the trees. 

It was time, for they had scarcely left the place when it 
was filled by the hostile division. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


171 


' ‘ Capperi exclaimed tlie commander, at the sight of 
the two bodies; “ there has been fighting here.’’ 

‘‘ These are two Piedmontese,” added another. 

They examined the two bodies. 

‘ ^Per bacco I This is the mysterious fellow who so lately 
joined us. Here is his companion, Orazio, the only one with 
whom he would keep company. Now, rather they than I, 
if this was to be the end of it !” 

“ They must have been killed in the pursuit of the Papal 
troops. Yes, here lies one of their weapons. Where can 
the birds of prey be hiding themselves ?” 

Perhaps in the wood here ; shall we seek for them?” 

“ No, no ; forward !” answered the leader. “ They must 
have passed on long ago, for he,” pointing to Orazio, “is 
already cold and stiff — his comrade must have wrestled longer 
with death.” 

Meanwhile, the three Zouaves continued their fiight through 
the wood ; few words passed between them. 

Victor lent his fainting head against Martin’s shoulder, 
and sometimes, when the unevenness of the ground shook 
him in his bearer’s arms, a suppressed groan of pain escaped 
him. 

“ Courage, dearest friend,” whispered Martin to him ; “we 
shall soon, I hope, reach a place of safety.” 

“ God grant it,” answered Victor. “But my good friend, 
I am too heavy a burden to you ; why will you not leave me 
to my fate ? I shall not hold out much longer.” 

“ Look here, Victor,” answered Martin, “ speak to me no 
more about it, unless you want to grieve my heart. It is of 
no kind of use.” 

They had now reached a little hollow in the wood; the 
green turf and the shade of the trees invited them to rest. 

“Shall we rest here for a while?” said Joseph to Martin. 


172 


TUE DOUBLE SACBIFICE ; OR, 


‘ ‘ It will be perhaps dangerous to leave tlie wood before 
nightfall.” 

“ As you will,” was the answer. 

They placed Victor carefully on the grass, leaning his 
head on Joseph’s breast. 

Then they said their rosary for the good success of their 
flight, and Victor, weak as he was, followed the prayers as 
well as he could. 

Joseph had already bound up his wound, which, as Wg 
have said, was slight. They then dressed Victor’s more 
carefully, washed away the blood, and placed a new bandage 
on it ; and the poor sufferer, very much relieved, fell into a 
comfortable sleep. 

Towards evening, they set off again, and soon reached the 
boundary of the wood. 

They had only made a few steps beyond it, when they saw 
five Piedmontese soldiers approaching in the opposite di- 
rection. 

There was but just time for them to hide themselves once 
more in the wood. 



THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


173 


CHAPTEE XY. 

THE HERMITAGE. 

HE Piedmontese soldiers apparently had not ob- 
served the three fugitives^ for they went on their 
way without molesting them. 

The Zouaves thanked God for their deliverance 
from the danger, and suffered a little time to elapse before 
they resumed their journey. 

Their hope of escape was increased by their deliverance 
from this new peril, but their position was assuredly far from 
secure. 

The evening was slowly drawing on ; they knew not where 
they should find a shelter, nor whether Victor, whose strength 
was already exhausted, would live through the night under 
the open sky. 

Yet the three friends were calm and collected. 

They pressed onward with confidence, knowing that God’s 
help is near when man’s strength fails. Were not the wings 
of their guardian Angels stretched forth to shelter the pious 
soldiers ? Had not the venerable pastor of Schrambeek re- 
minded them, on their departure, of those blessed words of 
Holy Scripture, “//c hath given His Angels charge over thee 
that they keep thee in all thy ways.^^ 

Oh, how consoling — how strengthening in all the adversi- 
ties of our sorrowful life — ^is the blessed conviction that the 
all-seeing eye of the best of Fathers ever watches over His 
children ; that the mighty arm of the Avenger of Innocence 
is ever raised to protect His own, and that no human power 
can resist His Providence, “ Whom God will help can no 
man's loickedness hinder." 

When the three friends had gone on their way for some 

15 * 



174 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


time, avoiding open places as mucli as possible, they saw an 
old man in the distance, who seemed bent by the weight of 
years. 

He went slowly along, stopping ever and anon to gather 
herbs, so that the Zouaves soon overtook him. 

He was a venerable-looking man, with a bald head and a long 
and snow-white beard. His forehead was deeply wrinkled, 
and his eyes lay deep under his eyebrows ; but the calm peace 
and mild gentleness which marked his countenance, spoke of 
a soul pure as that of an innocent child, and of a heart kind 
as that of a loving father. 

His dress was simple and coarse; it was of serge, fastened 
round the waist with a leathern girdle. 

He stood still when the Zouaves came up to him. 

He recognized them, no doubt, for Pontifical soldiers, for 
he thus addressed them in a pure French accent : 

“ Good evening, my children. You have, by God’s help 
doubtless, escaped the massacre. What can I do to serve 
you 

“ Venerable man,” said Joseph, “ it is as you say. For 
God’s love I pray you, if possible, to show us some place 
of shelter, where we may escape the pursuit of our enemy.” 

“ God be thanked,” replied the old man, “that He has 
brought you to me. I have not much to offer you, yet what 
I have, is wholly at your disposal. Come ; my hermitage is 
not far from hence ; it is no palace, indeed, but it will shelter 
you from pursuit better than if it were.” 

Joseph heartily thanked the good old man for his kindness, 
and Martin thanked him with a glance of his blue eyes, 
which expressed all the gratitude of his soul, and which was 
followed by a look of sorrowful compassion upon the beloved 
burthen which he bore upon his shoulders. 

Your comrade,” said the old man, “is severeljr 
Wounded?” 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


175 


“Alas! yes, good man,’’ answered Joseph; and we 
even feared for a time that we had lost him.” 

“ Now you are good young men who take such loving care 
for each other. When we get to the Hermitage I will look 
to his wound, for I have some slight knowledge of medicine, 
and perhaps Grod will enable me to heal it. I would send for 
a surgeon from the nearest village, but it would be dangerous 
for he has suffered himself to be carried away by this hot- 
headed Italian movement.” 

They struck once more into the wood, and soon reached 
a little hut, built partly of stone and consisting partly of a 
natural cave. 

At the entrance of the simple dwelling a rude wooden cross 
had been erected, and a little vegetable garden lay along the 
side. Behind was a hill of considerable elevation^ termi- 
nating in a flat surface commanding a view of the country 
round. 

“ Here” said the old man, “ is the Hermitage of Fra 
Paolo, as the inhabitants of this district call me. Welcome, 
my children, under the old hermit’s roof.” 

They entered, with thanks. 

It was a poor, but neatly-arranged room, containing no 
other furniture but a crucifix, an image of the Blessed Yir- 
gin, a rude table and two rough stools, and a YiHIq prie-dieu 
beside a hard straw bed. 

The Hermit opened the door of a second room. 

“Bring your comrade in hither,” said he to the two Zou- 
aves. “ Happily I have abed softer than my own, which 
sometimes harbors a wandering or weary traveller. As for 
you, you must be content to. night with my straw bed, an 1 
to-morrow I will try to do something better ^or you. But 
first let us take care of your wounded friend.” 

Martin had already laid his beloved companion on the 
bed. 


176 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


Victor tried to speak a few words of thanks to the good old 
man, but he stopped him. 

‘‘'Remain quiet and calm. To-morrow, when you are 
somewhat rested, as I hope, it will be time to thank me, 
though there is no need of thanks. What am I doing more 
than every one is bound to do in such a case ?” 

He carefully took off the bandage, and anxiously examined 
the deep wound. 

Joseph and Martin kept their eyes fixed upon the Hermit’s 
face, to discover whether it betokened the slightest sign of 
hope. The old man shook his head thoughtfully. 

“ Well?” anxiously inquired Joseph, in an undertone. 

“ I am not accustomed,"’ answered Fra Paolo gently, “ to 
conceal the truth ; if the wound had been a few fingers’ 
breadth higher up, it would have been all over with your 
comrade. Now, I have some hope of saving him, by Grod’s 
blessing upon my efforts, which I hope we shall obtain by 
our prayers.” 

He then washed the wound, spread a kind of balsam upon 
a clean linen cloth, and bound up the wound again with all 
the skill and dexterity of an experienced surgeon. 

Under the wholesome influence of the anodyne, Victor 
soon fell into a deep, quiet slumber. 

“ Now I must take care of you,” said the kind Hermit to 
the oi?h*3r two. “My supper is simple and spare, but after 
such a day as yesterday you may be able to eat it with appe- 
tite. But first let me lay a bandage upon your wound,” 
said he to Joseph; “ my balsam will revive you. Hood,” 
said he, examining the wound; “ this is but a scratch which 
V, ill do you no harm. You may thank God that you have 
got off so easily. And you, my young man,” said he to 
Martin, “have you escaped altogether?” 

“Altogether,” said he, having already picked up a few 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


177 


words of French by his intercourse with the Zouaves ; ‘‘only 
a spent bullet or two struck me here and there. I have had 
very good luck.” 

The brave fellow had indeed received four bullets in his 
clothes, of which he was quite unconscious ; his anxiety for 
his two friends had left him no thought for himself. 

The meal was soon ready, and the two Zouaves did justice 
to it. 

As they were spent with fatigue, the Hermit enjoined them 
to take some rest^ and compelled them, nothwithstanding all 
their resistance, to occupy his bed. 

“Do not trouble yourselves about me, I know how to 
I spend the night, and to-morrow I shall find a better shelter 
for you with my friends ; but your wounded comrade must 
remain with me till he recovers.” 

He went into Victor’s room while the two Zouaves lay 
down to rest, and sat down watching by his bed. 

“Poor boy !” murmured he softly ; “ still so young, and so 
blooming with life and strength ! An only son, perhaps, whose 
parents are now lying sleepless in sorrowful anguish and tor- 
turing uncertainty as to the fate of their beloved child. This 
is but one of the thousand miseries entailed by this cruel 
war against God and His Church ! How many tears shall 
this unhappy day cause to flow ? All this for the phantom 
of imaginary Italian unity. Oh, Italy ! my unhappy coun- 
try 1 how long will you be allured by the chimera which 
your enemies set before you, to drag you into the gulf of per- 
dition at last ? There was a time when I was blind also ; I 
was young and enthuisiastic, and my heart, like the heart of 
my friends, Silvio Pelico, Maroncelli, and many more beside, 

; burnt with love for my country ; but we understood not in 
what her true happiness consists. Our dreams might be 
beautiful, but they were only dreams. Time and experience. 


178 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


thank God, have opened my eyes. Oh, truly did you speak, 
my dear Pelico, when you said to me in one of our confiden- 
tial conversations — ‘ My good friend, I still burn with the 
same love for my country, but it is no longer so short-sighted 
a love, and I sigh to see how Italy is ruining herself by seek- 
ing to accomplish an impossible work. If I could make my 
V !ce heard by all those unhappy men who are led astray by 
fuise patriotism, I would say to them : Stifle the evil passions 
which have been set on fire amongst you. I love my coun- 
try as dearly as ever, but I see that its glory is not to be 
founded upon anger and strife. The true duty of its sons is 
to love one another, and to unite to draw the sword against 
the usurpers.’ So said my Silvio,” continued the old man; 

“ but alas ! his words reached but a few ; moreover, men’s 
ears were deafened by the voice of passion. Happy friend I 
you are now at rest in the bosom of God, who has taken you 
away that you might not see the evils that have fallen upon 
your unhappy country.” 

The venerable old man thus murmured on in his reverie ; 
but at last seeing that Victor was sleeping quietly, he rose, 
slipped gently out of the hut, and ascended the hill against 
which it was built. 

It was a glorious night. A fresh freeze spread its fra- 
grance all around ; a thousand stars glittered in the firma- 
ment ; and the dome of the Loretto in the distance, cast its 
black shadow upon the dark blue sky. 

It was a picturesque sight to see the venerable old man as : 
he stood there like a messenger of Heaven, stretching out 
his arm like a prophet, while the wind played amid his 
snowy beard. 

“Italy !” said he, “unhappy land! return from the course 
on which you have so recklessly entered. Do you not see the 
gulf which is yawning to swallow you up ? Do you not see 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


179 


fche butchers who are waiting with hellish eagerness for their 
victim ? But no ; you listen not ; it is as if the hand of God 
Himself were sweeping you forward on the path of destruc- 
tion, in punishment for your long, wilful blindness. Ah ! the 
punishment I fear will be terrible, for you have not feared, 
in your rashness, to lay your hand upon the Lord’s anointed.” 

The old man fell weeping upon his knees, pouring out fer- 
vent prayers for God’s pardon for miserable Italy. 

His prayer was long and earnest. At last he rose, and 
returned to the Hermitage, to resume his place by Victor’s 
sick bed. 

The morning dawned, and found him still watching there. 
When he at last entered the room in which J oseph and Martin 
had passed the night, he found them both already dressed 
and quite recovered from their fatigue. 

This was a great satisfaction to the good hermit, and he 
now made many inquiries of the young men concerning their 
country, their families, and, above all, concerning the late 
battle and their happy escape. 

Joseph fully satisfied the curiosity of his host, who was 
moved to tears by his simple narrative of the noble bearing 
of the three Zouaves. 

Joseph was still in the middle of the battle of Castelfi- 
dardo, when the door was gently opened, and a young girl 
came in, who, at the sight of the strange soldiers, drew back 
timidly with an involuntary ^ ^ Accidente the favorite ex- 
clamation of all Italians on any unexpected occurrence. 

Come in. Marietta,” said Fra Paolo, smiling at her ter- 
ror. ‘‘You need not be afraid; these are brave men who 
have come to defend our Holy Father. 

At these last words, which entirely removed her fears, 
Marietta came forw^ard, and gave the two Zouaves a friendly 
greeting. 


180 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


“ Good morning, Fra Paolo,’’ said sbe next to the Hermit. 
“Mother has sent me to inquire after your health.” 

“Bravo, my child,” was the answer. “Are they all well 
at home ?” 

“We are well in health,” answered Marietta; “but we 
were terribly frightened yesterday by that fearful battle. 
Were these signori engaged in it ?” 

“ Yes, Marietta ; and I have been happy enough to afford 
them a shelter after the defeat. But you see they cannot 
remain in my poor Hermitage, especially as I have taken 
charge of a third — their wounded companion. I have thought 
of your family, Marietta, as likely to help me in the work of 
charity.” 

“Oh it was a good thought, good Fra Paolo. How pleased 
my parents would be to do anything for our Holy Father’s 
defenders.” 

“ Is your brother Lorenzo at home ?” 

‘ ‘ He was obliged to go with a message to Loretto ; but 
he will be at home again at midday.” 

“ Very good; we shall be sure to hear tidings. Tell him, 
Marietta, to come, to us this evening, and after nightfall to 
guide our two Zouaves to your house ; and take care that 
when they are with you, they may have no reason to complain 
of your hospitality.” 

The girl made no answer, and remained for a few moments 
lost in thought. 

“What are you thinking about?” asked the Hermit, “you 
seem to be dreaming.” 

“ I was thinking of the wounded Zouave, Fra Paolo. 
Could I see him ?” 

“ Certainly, child,” said the good old man ; and he led her 
into the room where Victor was asleep. They were followed 
by Joseph and Martin. 


I 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 181 

The wounded Zouave was still sleeping peacefully, and there 
was a slight color on his noble countenance. 

Marietta fell on her knees by the bed, and looked at the 
sleeping soldier with a mixture of reverence and compas- 
sion. 

“ Poor young man !” said she with a sigh. 

And then turning to Fra Paolo— 

‘ ‘ You will cure him, will you not, good Paolo ?” 

‘‘I hope so. Marietta, I am sure we shall have your 
prayers for his recovery.” — ' 

“Oh! assuredly. Whenever I kneel before the image 
of our Lady, I will pray for him to the Heart of the good 
Mother of Compassion, and I will offer up my Communion 
for him next Sunday. Poor young man 1” 

Victor just then opened his eyes, and looked round him in 
amazement ; but he soon saw his two friends, and recognized 
the Hermit. 

“Thanks, thanks, good man I” said he; “you have 
snatched me from the jaws of death.” 

“No more of that,” answered Fra Paolo, “rather tell 
me how you feel.” 

“God be praised,” was the answer. “I feel already 
much relieved by your remedy.” 

“Well, then,” said the Hermit, “ I expected as much. 
This is not the first time that my balsam has produced good 
effects. But I must not let you speak much ; it would tire 
you and might have worse consequences. Shake hands, 
then, with your brave companions, and compose yourself 
again to rest ; it cannot fail to do you good.” 

Joseph and Martin gave him their hands, which he pressed 
affectionately. 

“Rest in peace, my son,” said Fra Paolo, as he left 

16 


182 ; ^IIE DOUBLE SACRiriCE ; OR, 

the room ; ‘‘ we will soon return to see whether you want 
anything.’’ 

^^Povero giovane,^^ said Marietta, with a sigh. 

In the evening appeared Lorenzo, Marietta’s brother, ac- 
cording to the Hermit’s desire. 

He was a powerful young man, with an open countenance, 
fiery eyes and black hair. 

His bearing was simple, but free, and he held his head 
erect, with a certain air which seemed to say that he , was not 
afraid to look an enemy in the face. 

He greeted Fra Paolo respectfully, and then shook hands 
heartily with the two Zouaves. 

'^Bravi wi cried he. “You and your comrades are 
brave soldiers. \Ye may well rejoice in having you in the 
midst of us. ^ But, Fra Paolo, where is the poor wounded 
man? Marietta has talked to me so much about him that I 
am all eagerness to shake hands with him.” 

V* Come to the next room,” was the answer. “ Victor,” 
continued the Hermit, as he opened the door, “here is a new 
friend come to see you.” 

Lorenzo was by the sick bed before Fra Paolo had fin- 
ished speaking, and embraced Victor with enthusiasm. 

“Caro ferito ! He is a martyr of the Lord, Fra Paolo, is 
he not?” 

“ But a martyr whom we shall cure, I hope.” 

Victor, indeed, was visibly better, thanks to the skilful 
care of the Hermit, who had formerly practiced medicine. 

“ He knew not,” he said, “ how to express his gratitude for 
all the kindness shown him.” 

“There is no need of it,” answered Lorenzo. “Who 
could be cold-blooded enough not to feel the heroism evinced 
by the Pontifical troops, and their shameful treatment by the 
enemy ?” 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


183 


‘‘"True, true, Lorenzo,” interrupted the Hermit. “You 
have just come from Loretto; tell us all you have seen and 
heard there. First, has de La Moriciere reached Ancona in 
safety ?” 

“ Has he reached it? Yes, indeed ; and the best of it is, 
he glided through their hands like an eel, and reached the 
fortress yesterday evening.” 

“How?” asked Joseph. “Have our troops made their 
way through the body of the enemy ?” 

“ No Signor. The commander alone, with a few follow- 
ers, passed by Umana, where the way was open ; the rest of 
the army retreated to Loretto.” 

“ Did the Piedmontese pursue them?” 

“ No fear of it; they had no desire to make any further 
I acquaintance with your comrades’ bayonets, and they con- 
tented themselves with watching them from the top of our 
hills. It was only this morning that your companions entered 
into a treaty with the Piedmontese for the surrender of Lo- 
rotto, on the promise that they shall be suffered to depart in 
freedom with arms and baggage.” 

A gleam of satisfaction lighted up Victor’s face at the 
tidings. 

“But it is impossible to describe,” continued Lorenzo. 
“ what I saw at Loretto. I went into the Church of the 
Santa Casa. What a scene did it present ! The floor 
was covered with straw and mattresses, on which lay a 
multitude of wounded soldiers ; their heads rested against the 
hard wall or on the steps of the altar. They were victims for 
God, for whose rights they had fought and suffered. The 
Sisters of S. Vincent of Paul were carefully attending them, 
and all the time the Holy Sacrifice was being offered. As 
the Priests said their Masses, the offering of these noble 
heroes was thus united to that of the Lamb of God, and 


184 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


ascended as one sacrifice to Heaven. No ; as long as I live, I 
shall never forget that sight.’’ 

Fra Paolo and the rest of the audience were deeply moved 
by the simple description of Lorenzo, who was obliged to 
stop for a moment to master his own emotion. 

“ Calmness and resolution,” he resumed, “ reigned in this 
sanctuary of suffering and of faith. Or, if it were broken 
for a moment by the involuntary groan of a wounded man 
writhing under the surgeon’s hand, Christian fortitude soon 
recovered its mastery over pain. The wounded were calm 
and serious, after the manner of men who awaited the com- 
mand of their God, as they had just fulfilled the orders of 
their commander.” 

“But,” interrupted Joseph, “what, in the meanwhile, 
became of the dead? They have assuredly, received the 
last duties of Catholic piety.” 

“ Far from it,” answered Lorenzo^ “and my blood boils in 
my veins when I think of it. Did not General Cialdini boast 
after the battle that he had a considerable number of dead in 
his hands ? The cruel monster ! he refused the Pontificals ; 
the mournful privilege of burying their dead comrades ! He 
cast the bodies into a common hole, and thus refused the ^ 
fathers and mothers, who soon hastened from every side of the 
hill^ the consolation of weeping over their children’s graves. ( 
Ah ! he may boast of it, but let his day once come, and his pun- i 
ishment will be fearful. The Chaplains of the Pontifical 
army were forbidden to exercise their sacred ministry beside 
the dying. ‘ Let them die, the canaille f said he roughly; 

‘ if they want priests let them have our chaplains.’ ‘But, 
general, the French, the Belgians, the Irish, the Germans, i 
understand no Italian, they want Priests of their own coun- ; 
try?’ ‘ Come, come,’ growled the commander, in answer 
‘ that scum which fights for the Priests is not worth so much . 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


185 


trouble. They are prisoners of war. Soldiers ! watch them 
well.’’ 

Good heavens ! what cruelty !” said Fra Paolo, shudder- 
ing. “ And these are the men who would free Italy from 
the tyranny of the Priests ! ” 

In the midst of all their sufferings, and amid the cruelty 
of their enemies, the Pontifical soldiers remained firm, and 
even playful. I went with my friend, Antonio, into the 
Church of Castelfidardo. The wounded were laid on the 
cold stones. There were nine-and- forty Zouaves, and among 
them the captain of the second company.” 

“Guelton, a Belgian. Lorenzo, was he wounded?” 

“Ah, yes, poor fellow,” was the answer. “He had received 
no less than three balls in his body, and cannot possibly 
recover. Besides several other Belgians, whose names I either 
did not hear or have forgotten, there was one named Laigniel, 
a boy of eighteen. I exchanged a few words with him ; he had 
received a bullet in his arm. ‘ Then,’ said he, ‘ my weapon 
fell out of my hand.’ ” 

“ Brave boy,” said Victor ; “he had left his studies to fly 
to the defence of the Holy Father.” 

“Who would have believed it. Fra Paolo?” continued 
Lorenzo ; ‘ ‘ they found plenty of matter for laughing and 
joking. A Zouave, for instance, who had been shot right 
through the body, was carrying on a lively dispute with a 
Piedmontese. I could not very well make out what he said, 
but it must have been something very amusing, for the other 
Zouaves also laughed heartily.” 

“ That, no doubt,” remarked Joseph, “ was Tresvaux de 
Fraval. He is an excellent young man ; always lively ; 
without a care. Talking, talking, talking forever, and al- 
ways full of fun.” 

“ Another, continued Lorenzo, called Paolo or Pauli,” 


186 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


‘‘De Poli,’’ interrupted Victor; the noble Oscar de 


Poli/^ 

“Just so,” replied Lorenzo; “ he was wounded in the 
breast, like Victor. As he was creeping through the Church 
with great difficulty, he suddenly heard from a dark corner a 
hollow voice which called him by name ; it seemed to 
come from a heap of blood-stained clothes. ‘ Heigh P 
cried the voice, ‘ De Poli, don’t you know me T ‘No.’ ‘ I 

am do la Carte,’ ‘ How! — you are?’ ‘ I, myself.’ ‘ Are 
you not dead?’ ‘Not that I know of.’ The poor soldier 
who lay there had been pierced by a bullet through both his 
cheeks. He was frightful to look upon, and Antonio and I 
could hardly help weeping at the sight. What moved us 
most was, that all these young men should have spirit enough 
to laugh thus in the midst of their sufferings, as if they had 
been at some joyful festival.” 

“They have good reason,” said Victor smiling; “their 
conscience is clear and peaceful, and death to them cannot 
but be an invitation to the great festival of Heaven.” 

Lorenzo remained for some time, talking of all the re- 
markable occurrences which he had seen and heard of at 
Loretto and Castelfidardo, and at nightfall he took Joseph 
and Martin with him to his father’s house, where they were 
received with the warmest tokens of affection. 

The family consisted of the parents and two children. The 
father, Luigi, was a peasant of middle age, and his wife, 
Bettina, w^as a little woman whose goodness of heart was 
expressed on her countenance, as was that of her husband 
upon his. 

The two Zouaves were soon installed in their new home, 
as if they had belonged to it. They were greeted by the 
good news that the Piedmontese had already been spying 
about the Cascina and had now left the neighborhood for 
Ancona, so that there was little fear of discovery or pursuit. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


187 


When the fugitives laid down to rest, they thought over 
all which Lorenzo had told them of the fate of their comrades, 
and fervently thanked God who had so signally preserved 
them. 

Marietta’s brother, however, had been unable to inform 
them of all the unworthy treatment inflicted by the Piedmon- 
tese upon the unfortunate prisoners at Osimo, Alessandria, 
Genoa, and elsewhere. 

Nor can we detail all the barbarities committed by the 
unworthy victors. 

Four of our countrymen, Vereecken, Hevraert, Callebaut 
and Lecroix (four of the five hundred and fifty men who, 
under the command of the gallant O’Reilly, had defended 
Spoleto for twenty hours against an army of fifteen thousand 
men,) were carried prisoners on October 4th to Genoa. 

“ Hurried from place to place,” wrote one of them, “ we 
are now at Genoa, not knowing what is to become of us, shut 
up without linen, with torn clothes covered with vermin, 
without money or hope to return to our country.” 

This was the fate of but too many among their companions. 



188 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


CHAPTER XYI. 

PRISONERS AND FUGITIVES. 

APPIER than the greater number of their com- 
panions, who were pining in imprisonment^ and 
victims to every kind of oppression on the part 
of their barbarous conquerors, Victor and his 
two comrades dwelt in rest and peace, one under the shelter ; 
of the Hermitage, the others in the Cascina of Luigi. | 

One day, towards evening, shortly after the battle of <■ 
Castelfidardo, Joseph and Martin had gone to the Hermitage 
to see their wounded friend, when a knock was heard at the 
door. Fra Paolo went hastily to answer it. ‘^Who is there?” 
asked he. 

“ Poor strangers who have lost their way, and ask shelter 
for a few moments, and some information as to the country.” 

The Hermit opened the door. 

“Zouaves,” cried he joyfully, at the sight of three sol- 
diers who stood at the threshold. 

They were three fugitives of the Papal army. 

“ Welcome,” said he, “ Fra Paolo bids you welcome.” 

He who had been the spokesman, followed the old man, 
who led him at once to Victor’s room. 

“ My friends, I bring you new comrades.” 

The three Zouaves had hardly cast their eyes on the first 
who entered the room when they exclaimed with one voice : 

“Van G-ameren ! Welcome ! welcome!” 

And Joseph and Martin rushed forward to shake hands 
heartily with their companion-in-arms. But the brave son 
of Antwerp quickly extricated himself from their hearty 
welcome to hasten to the bedside of the wounded man. I 
^ ^‘Victor,” cried he, “good comrade, arc you wounded?! 



THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


189 


Oh ! I have been very uneasy about you, since I lost sight 
of you in our retreat.’^ 

“It will be all right again, dear Leo,” was the answer. 
“I have been wounded in the breast, but I am already better, 
and I have left my bed for a little while to-day.” 

Fra Paolo brought in a bench for them. 

“ Now tell the news to one another, while I go and pre- 
pare something for our new guests.” 

“But Leo,” inquired Victor, “ tell me first, how has it 
been with you ? Have you not been wounded ?” 

“Thank God, no, my friend; I have not received the 
slightest hurt, only I am deaf in my right ear. It is the 
fault of a bullet, which shaved off a bit of my ear, and killed 
the man who stood at my side. What a scene ! I saw al- 
most all my companions fall, one after another. Our bat- 
talion is utterly destroyed. The poor Pope ! he has lost 
his dominions ; the Piedmontese are everywhere victorious.” 

“Yes,” answered Joseph, “but Ancona holds out yet, 
under the command of our glorious general. Lorenzo told 
us to-day that the Piedmontese have not hitherto succeeded 
on the land side in winning a foot’s breadth from the wall.” 

‘ ‘ But alas ! it can but be the noble but hopeless defence 
of rights which must at last be overpowered by oppression, 
unless speedy help be afforded by those whose duty it is to 
defend the Holy Father’s possessions.” 

“ But tell us,” said Victor, “by what means you and your 
companions escaped the hands of the conquerors ?” 

“ It would be too long a tale to tell,” answered Van Ga- 
meren, “ were I to attempt to describe to you all that we 
suffered in that fearful flight. Enough to say that we were 
separated from our comrades in the retreat to Loretto, and 
having no hope to escape the enemy’s pursuit in any other 
way, we took to the mountains, where we concealed ourselves 


190 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


in cave^' and clefts of the rocks, living upon the remains of 
our provisions and on the wild herbs that we gathered. It 
was only in the night-time that we ventured to proceed, and 
being unfortunately ignorant of the country, we lost our way, 
and when we thought that we were far on in the direction of 
Rome, we found that we had returned to the neighborhood 
of Loretto. We dared not venture to inquire our way, lest 
we should fall into hands that would betray us to our enemies. 
It was only the cross that marked the entrance to this Her- 
mitage which gave us courage to ask a shelter here for a few 
hours.” 

“ God has guided you well. Our good Hermit, who has 
taken care of us like a real father, will doubtless give you 
the best information as to the surest way of proceeding.” 

“ I hope so,” was the reply ; “for our great desire is to 
get to Rome as soon as possible.” 

At this moment Fra Paolo came in to call them to the 
evening meal. 

He gave his three new guests, whom he vainly endea- 
ored to persuade to remain with him — at least, for that night — 
all possible information as the best course to follow in order 
to reach Rome with the least exposure to danger. 

“ But why will you depart so quickly ?” said he. “ Stay, 
at least, till the morning, that you may have a good night’s 
rest. 

“ Rome ! Rome !” was the answer of the three Zouaves. 

Joseph and Martin joined their entreaties to those of Fra 
Paolo to persuade them to stay, but to no purpose ; after a 
few hours’ rest. Van Gameren and his companions bade fare- 
well to Victor and to the rest of the occupants of the Her- 
mitage. 

“We shall join you in Rome as soon as possible.” said 
Victor. ~ ^ 


'THE , PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 191 

Till we meet again, then — 

Till we meet again, farewell, and a good journey.” 

‘‘ Poor fellows!” said Victor, when they were gone; '‘I 
fear that without a guide they will never succeed in avoiding 
the hands of the enemy.” 

He was mistaken. Van G-ameren and his two compan- 
ions, though with great difficulty, made their way to Koine. 
For six consecutive days they wandered through the hills 
without food, without rest. The voice of nature called 
loudly for repose I the fugitives were nearly sinking under 
the fearful conflict with fatigue and hunger. Yet forward ! 
forward I for the Piedmontese were chasing them like wild 
beasts. 

At the distance of two miles from Koine, they were com- 
pelled to defend themselves against a party of the enemy’s 
lancers^ who were following them. 

They reached Kome at last in a miserable condition. 
“ You should have seen in what a state I arrived,” wrote 
Van Gameren, on September 26, in a letter to his brother, 
giving him a short account of the dangers which he had 
passed through ; ‘ ‘ my clothes torn to pieces — my beautiful 
Zouave uniform, which I received but a month ago, is utterly 
spoiled ; happily they have given me another. I am too 
tired to write any more. Your attached brother, 

“Leo Van Gameren, Sergeant.” 

Victor, meanwhile, seemed on the high road to recovery. 

Thanks to the Hermit’s skilful treatment, his wound was 
healed, and but for the weakness consequent on the loss of 
blood, he would already have attempted to reach Kome with 
his comrades. 

But Fra Paolo would not hear of their departure. 

“ Later on,” said he, “'when Victor is stronger and the 
country is quieter, you shall go. The Piedmontese are still 
on the watch.” 


192 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


Their friends of the Luigi’s Cascina were of the same opin- 
ion. The three Zouaves were compelled, therefore, sore 
against their will, to delay their departure. 

One of their greatest troubles was the thought of the anx- 
iety which their friends in Belgium were enduring as to 
their fate. They dared not venture to write them a line, 
lest their place of concealment should become known to the 
watchful eye of the enemy. 

In other respects their lives were peaceful and happy amid 
the kind-hearted people with whom they lodged. 

Lorenzo and Marietta, above all, delighted in their com- 
pany. 

The brother was full of admiration for Martin. The two 
new friends were inseparable, and however difficult it might 
be to understand each other, they talked together with a sat- 
isfaction which was pleasant to see. Lorenzo was never 
tired of admiring the giant strength of the Pontifical Vol- 
unteer. 

What a fine soldier,” said he. “ Martino, I should like 
to see you at work upon G-aribaldi ; you would teach him a 
lesson, I think I” 

Marietta, on her part, had no greater pleasure than to get 
Joseph to tell her about his dear fatherland, his tender 
mother, and his beloved sister. 

'‘My sister is called Mary, like you,” he said to her; 
“ and she is about your age too.” 

" Oh, how I should like to know her !” 

“That will be rather difficult,” said Joseph, laughing, 

‘ ‘ but when I go back to Belgium I will send you her por- 
trait. I will tell her what good care Marietta and her 
family took of the Pope’s poor volunteers, and then she will 
pray for you, for she is as pious and good as Luigi’s chil- 
dren.” 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


19a 


Marietta blushed at the unexpected praise. 

Is Belgium a beautiful country asked she smiling, in 
order to turn the conversation. 

Then Joseph had to tell her about the Campine, and its 
peculiar customs. 

Very often in the evenings when the day’s work was over, 
they sat at the door of the Cascina for a little while to breathe 
the fresh air; and then Marietta sang with her brother, ac- 
companying herself on the harp, one or other of those touch- 
ing songs so often heard from the lips of the peasantry under 
the blue sky of Italy. 

Then it came to Joseph’s turn to sing the song of the Bel- 
gian Zouaves, in which Lorenzo and Marietta, as well as 
Martin, joined. 

At last, when night began to fall, Joseph and Martin went 
in company with Lorenzo to visit Victor, at the Hermitage ; 
^nd after his recovery he would sometimes return with them 
to the Cascina to spend the following day with his comrades. 

Good Fra Paolo liked not that Victor’s absence should be 
long. He had taken to him as kindly as if he had been his 
nwn father. 

Victor had opened his whole heart to him — his love for 
his parents, his father’s errors, his sorrow over the old phil- 
osopher’s blindness. 

Be of good courage, my son,” said the Hermit; your 
father will be converted.” 

“ Oh, father 1” answered young Morren^ may your words 
come true. I offer my life gladly to obtain it. But, alas I 
God seems not to accept my sacrifice.” 

“ Be of good heart ; perhaps the Lord has already heard 
you. At all events I venture to prophecy that sooner or 
later he will grant you your father’s conversion.” 

After such conversations Victor would climb the hill 

17 


194 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


against which the Hermitage was built, and direct his prayer 
to the Madonna of Loretto from its summit. 

So strong a friendship had grown up between the three 
Zouaves and their hosts, that when the day in November had 
arrived which was fixed for their departure, every one in the 
Cascina was sorrowful. 

Fra Paolo had left his Hermitage with Victor the evening 
before, and passed the night under Luigi’s roof. 

The young men had provided themselves as well as they 
could with weapons, for it was to be feared they would have 
to deal with some of the enemy’s soldiers on their way. 

Lorenzo was not to be dissuaded from his determination, 
to accompany them to the boundary of the Papal States. 

“ I will not have you,” said he laughing, “ falling into 
the hands of the Piedmontese, after we, as you say, have 
had so much trouble with you. It would not been worth 
while to take care of you for that. Now I know the whole 
country ; I know the roads, the woods, the hills, the caves ; 
I can guide you without difficulty.” 

He was not to be denied. Early the following morning, 
the four companions were ready for the journey, all dressed 
in peasant’s attire. 

The parting was sorrowful. It was like that of children 
leaving their father’s house for ever. 

Bettina and Marietta cried bitterly. 

Luigi seemed exceedingly out of temper, he knew not 
with whom nor why. It was his way of showing his sorrow. 

“ The Piedmontese !” muttered he. 

Fra Paolo stood leaning on his staff, and cast a glance of 
sorrowful affection upon Victor. 

Child,” whispered he in his ear, “ pray for the old Her- 
mit, as he will pray for you.” 

The travellers fell upon their knees before the venerable 
old man. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


195 


Your blessing/’ said they. 

Fra Paolo raised his eyes to Heaven, and made the sign 
‘of the cross over their bowed heads. 

A last pressure of the hands was exchanged. 

“ Farewell.” 

^^Addior 

And they were on their way to Home. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE END OF THE FREE-THINKER. 

HE names of Castelfidardo and the Crocette had 
echoed throughout Europe. The lips of all 
men were full of the fame of the Pontifical Mar- 
tyrs, and of the shame of the godless conquerors. 

The lion-like courage of the Volunteers, and the prudence 
of their brave leaders, the crushing superiority of the ene- 
my’s numbers, and the barbarity of their commanders, were 
the theme of every tongue. 

Nevertheless, by what sorrows, what tears, what sighs was 
that glory accompanied ? 

Here, parents wept a son, snatched from them by the 
murderous bullet; there, sisters mourned a brother, of whom 
no tidings had been received; there, a husband or a bride- 
groom had fallen in the service of God, or a friend’s heart 
was wrung by the loss of a friend. 

Painful beyond expression was the uncertainty of those 
who had received no intelligence of their beloved ones. 
Were they dead, or dying, or perhaps severely wounded ? 
Were they imprisoned? Had they escaped? Who could 
.tell? 




196 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


When at last the list of the wounded appeared, every one 
grasped the paper convulsively, to have his hope confirmed 
or destroyed. 

But alas ! for many the torture of uncertainty still contin- 
ued ; in the list of the wounded they found not their chil- 
dren, their brothers, or their friends ; these, then, were 
surely dead — they were buried in that common grave, dug 
by the cruel hand of the barbarous Cialdini. How, other- 
wise, had it come to pass that not the slightest intelligence 
concerning them had been received. 

In this terrible and poignant uncertainty did the friends 
of our three Zouaves at Schrambeek remain. 

Since the newspapers had made known the massacre 
of Castelfidardo several weeks had already elapsed, and 
nothing had been heard of the three Pontifical Volunteers. 
The days went by in long and painful expectation of the fatal 
tidings, which would, perhaps, extinguish the last spark of 
hope ; or perhaps they would never know what had been the 
fate of those darlings of their affections. 

The anguish of the women, great as it was, was calm — the 
voice of Faith spoke in their hearts; to them the Providence 
of God was no idle word — their sorrow was hushed before- 
the adorable Will of the Lord. But the old philosopher, 
leaning only on the feeble reed of his own reason, which, 
threatened to break under the force of the blow,, had fallen 
into a dark, hopeless sadness * 

While his wife, her sister, and niece, found comfort in 
prayer at the foot of the Tabernacle, or before the Chapel of 
the Mother Maid, he wandered frantically through the 
fields, or sat for hours in his room, lonely and silent, with 
his head resting on his hands. 

Although autumn was now far advanced^ Morren had not 
been able to make up his mind to leave his country-house. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


19T 


His wife and her sister found comfort in remaining together 
in their present state of torturing anxiety, and the philoso- 
pher himself did not wish to part from the gentle Mary, who 
seemed to have the art at times of dispelling his dark melan- 
choly. 

“ Well, dear uncle/^ said she, controlling her own sorrow 
to lighten his, “ always so sorrowful.’’ 

Alas, Mary,” answered he, in an undertone, “ how can 
I but be sorrow^ful? We shall never see our dear ones 
again.” 

“ But all hope is not lost. Volunteers are daily returning 
to their families.” 

‘ ‘ Yes, poor child ! but this is just what makes me despair ; 
those who have returned are prisoners of war, and not one 
of them has seen our boys. They have not been seen either 
at Genoa, Alessandria^ or any other prison. Mary, what 
hope can there be now? No, no ; they have been killed on 
the field of battle.” 

The despairing father could scarcely restrain the tears that 
sprang to his eyes. Wonderful to say, Mary, who had suf- 
fered so intensely on the first invasion of the Sardinians, and 
whose heart was even now wrung with sorrow, had strength 
-enough to suppress every outward expression of it. She 
seemed to feel that the God of Mercy had left her as the only 
support of that father’s tortured heart, which was shut against 
all heavenly consolation, and was thus in danger of breaking 
under the intensity of its anguish. 

“ But, good uncle,” answered she, “ no one saw them fall 
on the field of battle. Even those who were fighting at their 
side say that they did not lose sight of them till the retreat 
began. Victor and his companions may perhaps have hap- 
pily escaped by flight.” 

Flight I in a country full of victorious enemies ? Impos- 
17* 


198 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


sible. Would they not, then, have sent us tidings of their 
fate ?” 

“Who knows? perhaps they are concealed in the neigh- 
borhood of Loretto, whence, being surrounded by Sardin- 
ians, they could not write to us without betraying them- 
selves/*’ 

“Poor child!” sighed Morren, “it is the voice of love 
which fools you by a delusion, which you would fain share 
with me, to comfort me with a shadow of hope.” 

“ No, dear uncle, it is the voice of trust, which bids me- 
not to despair till we know assuredly that there is no hope ;; 
it is the voice of Faith, which teaches me that there is a good' 
Father who watches over His own, a Father to whom it is- 
easy to deliver from the greatest dangers. It is this trust,, 
this faith, dear uncle, which I would fain impart to you, not 
to delude you by false appearances, but to fill and comfort 
your heart by a true hope.” 

“ Mary, I admire your feeling and your courage, but it is 
too late for me. If the God in whom you trust really exists, 
and rules the fate of men, to me -He can be no longer a good 
Father, but a severe Judge, for I have denied Him, I have 
defied His power and slighted His goodness.” 

“ Oh ! dearest uncle, speak not thus. What do you say? 
God indeed is infinitely holy and infinitely powerful, and 
therefore He hates and punishes all injustice, but he is also infi- 
nitely good and infinitely merciful, and cannot withstand the 
voice of repentance, or refuse the cry for pardon. Oh I 
believe, at last, how earnestly His Heart longs to receive and 
pardon you.” 

The philosopher made no answer, but seemed lost in 
thought. It would have cost his haughty reason too much 
to acknowledge himself to be in the wrong, and yet the pros- 
pect of forgiveness held out to him by Mary’s words, the 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


199 


glimpse of peace which the return to God’s service offered 
to him — a peace which he had not tasted for many a long 
year — the hope resting on the providential care of the All- 
merciful, moved his heart — fell upon it like the gentle dew 
of grace, and showed him what blessedness he had lost by 
severing himself from the Fountain of Eternal Good. 

It was still the conflict of the spirit of good and the spirit 
of evil. 

When Victor’s father conversed with his niece, the burden 
of sorrow which oppressed him seemed to be lightened, and 
a gleam of cheerfulness brightened his countenance, but he 
soon relapsed into his dark despondency, and wandered for 
hours together through the woods on the east of Schrambeek, 
or stood in silent, unconscious reverie before the ruins of the 
old castle. 

Once, as he passed the Troostkapely he found old Teresa, 
as usual, kneeling before it. He gave her an alms, and said 
gently : 

Pray for our children,” and added as he hastily passed 
on, “and, good woman, do not forget me.” 
f Martin’s mother looked after him in astonishment. 

I “ Ah ! Mynheer Morren,” muttered she to herself, ‘^your 
I day will certainly come. Others beside me are praying for 
I the poor wanderer.” 

It was so ideed. Mary and her mother, to whom she had 
told what had passed between Morren and herself in the 
summer-house, were praying with renewed hope for his con- 
version. The wife of the free-thinker! What fervent 
prayers had she poured forth for her beloved husband, from 
the moment when Victor had entrusted her with his secret. 
The sufferings of that pious woman, the anguish which wrung 
her heart, arose as a prayer for mercy for the unhappy and 
sinful object of her love, together with the sacrifice of blood 
and life offered to God by the three volunteers. 


200 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


Ah ! Mynheer Morren 1 your day will full surely come. 

Notwithstanding the strength of mind which they evinced, 
Victor’s mother, as well as her sister, suffered unspeakably 
from the long anxiety, and when one morning in November, 
after a sleepless night of anguish, she met her husband at 
breakfast, she looked so pale and exhausted that Morren 
exclaimed in alarm : 

“ Good heavens ! Rosa, are you ill, or what ails you that 
you look so pale ?” 

The poor mother tried hard to smile, but the very attempt 
to master her emotion forced the tears from her eyes. “Oh ! 
my Victor,” cried she, “ what can have become of our poor 
child ?” 

They both remained for a while in sorrowful silence. 

At last Morrep stood up. 

“ Wife,” he said, “ I will go to the town. I hear that a 
volunteer has just returned, and perhaps he may bring some 
tidings of Victor. Meanwhile, be of good courage, we may 
still hope so long as we have no certainty of our child’s death. 
Keep up your heart then, who knows but I may bring you 
^ood news on my return ?” 

The poor father was speaking against his own conviction 
in order to keep up his wife’s courage. He was soon on his 
way to the town, and no sooner had the train stopped than i 
he sprang out hastily to make his inquiries. His hopes were 
bitterly disappointed. In vain did he hasten through the 
streets, in vain did he call at a multitude of houses ; he ob- 
tained much information concerning the heroism of the Zou- 
aves, the number of the slain and the sufferings of the pris- 
oners, but of Victor and his two comrade^ noj a single word 
could he hear. The volunteer who had just returned had 
nothing to say on the subject, but that he had lost sight of 
Victor in the heat of the battle, and that the poor youth 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


201 


with both his companions had probably fallen on the field. 
None of the prisoners had met either of them after the defeat. 

This was a terrible blow to the already sorrowful heart of 
the father. 

Morren roamed hopelessly through the streets, and stopped 
at last before the door of Ernest Van Dormael. He knocked 
mechanically, for he seemed wholly to have lost his presence 
of mind. The maid opened the door. 

‘‘Mynheer Morren!” cried she, terrified at the misery 
expressed in his face, “you here? and at what a moment!” 

“ What has happened?” cried Morren, surprised at this 
reception. 

“Ah! don’t you know? Ernest is dying. This morn- 
ing in such perfect health — and now, oh what a terrible 
thing.” 

“ Can I see him ?” 

“I have no doubt you can. His friends are with liim. 
Will you wait a moment till I tell him you are here ?” 

She led the philosopher into a small room, and returning 
a few minutes afterwards, bade him follow her. 

The sick man lay upon his bed, suffering from violent 
cramps, his face was blue and purple, his eyes were burning 
in his head, his features fearfully convulsed, and the veins 
seemed to be starting from his head. 

Around the bed stood three persons, besides the sick man’s 
sister, the one was his elder brother, the master of the house ; 
the second, dressed in black, was the physician ; the third 
was a friend of the dying man, if friend he could be called ; 
they were all members of the secret society of the Solidaii^es. 

They were keeping the devil’s watch over him. 

Morren had scarcely set foot in the room when Ernest 
fixed a wild, despairing eye upon him. 

“Ah! Morren,” cried he, “a priest! a priest! They 
will let me die without a priest,” 


202 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OK 


‘ ‘ But, Ernest, you will not die ; it is only a passing ill- 
ness from which you will soon recover. Our friend, the 
doctor, will soon cure you.” 

‘‘ No^ no,” screeched the sick man ; “ it is death ! I feel 
it burning within me. A priest ! Go, you will not call a 
priest, and I cannot die like a dog.” 

“Mynheer,” said Morren gravely to Ernest’s brother, 
“you see what your brother wishes. I do not share his 
feeling, but I think you are bound to do what he requires ; 
it would be barbarous to refuse his last request.” 

“ Come, come,” was the cool answer; “this is all childish 
nonsense, which he will be ashamed of when he gets better. 
Has he not often desired us never to give heed to such a 
request, should he make it from weakness of mind ?” 

“But he expressly wills it.” 

' ‘ And I will it not ; and one day he will thank me for 
refusing it.” 

“A priest! a priest!” implored Ernest, writhing in his 
bed. 

The physician tried to give him something to drink. 

“A priest! a priest!” 

Morren, who was looking in horror on a scene which had 
driven his own sorrow from his memory, turned to Ernest’s 
sister. 

“ Mejufvrouw,” said he, “ will you have the cruelty to re- 
fuse your brother’s last request ?” 

We know no priests,” sighed the unhappy girl. 

“Oh !” answered Morren, “any one in the street will direct 
you to one.” 

“He would not come with me into the house of a free- 
thinker, as they call us.” 

Can you think so ? Go, unless you would lay an ever- 
lasting burden upon your heart.” 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


203 


“ A priest ! a priest screeched Ernest again, in a tone 
so terrible that his sister fled from the room to fulfil his 
desire. 

“ He shall not come in,” thundered Ernest’s brother as 
she left the room. 

Meanwhile, Morren drew nearer to the bed. 

“ What ails you, Ernest ?” asked he kindly. 

“Ah! my friend,” sighed the sick man, “this morning 
' I was perfectly well, and suddenly, in a moment, death seized 
upon me, my whole body was convulsed. Morren, Morren, 
it is a punishment. A few days ago I also acted as the devils’ 
watchman by the death-bed of a free-thinker. He, also — he 
asked for a priest, and I refused him. I mercilessly closed 
the door against the servant of the Lord : fiend-like and 
cold-blooded, I let my companion die like a helpless beast. 
Ah 1” cried he, gnashing his teeth in despair, “ A priest I ho 
will not come, for they” — and he pointed to his three friends — 
“are watching round my bed to keep him away. I have 
deserved it, Morren, I have deserved it.” 

Indeed, Ernest’s brother, with his accomplices, had al- 
ready moved towards the door. 

“ To die,” moaned the sick man, “ so young and so full 
of life, to die like a perishing beast. Woe is me, and what 
will follow after death ? Morren, do you know what will 
follow after death ?” 

The philosopher stood dumb, as if struck by fire from 
Heaven. 

Ernest raved like one possessed, rolling round and round 
upon his bed, while all his limbs were fearfully drawn to- , 
gether. 

“ He will not come,” he howled again. “ The priests — I 
have persecuted them, slandered them, poured forth all my 
gall upon them, and they know me — they know the freo- 


204 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


thinker, they know their enemy, and they will not help me. 
If they would, what will it avail me? It is too late, there 
is no forgiveness for me now. I have blasphemed everything, 
despised everything, mocked at everything.’^ 

And he tore his hair in despair. 

The door of the room opened, the sister of the sick man 
had returned with a priest. 

This way, reverend sir,” said she as she entered the 
room. 

She was followed by an ecclesiastic, a tall, venerable old 
man. But before he could set his foot within the room, the 
free-thinkers stood pale and threatening before him. 

Begone,” thundered the brother of the dying man, ^^you 
Bhall not set foot in this room.” 

The priest seemed startled for a moment, but soon recov- 
ered his composure. 

** Mynheeren,” answered he, ‘‘the aid of my holy ministry 
was asked for a sick man.” 

“ No one here wants your help.” 

“But the poor dying man yonder?” and he pointed to 
Ernest. 

“ A priest ! help! help 1” cried he. 

“ Out of my house, hypocrite,” stormed the brother, “out 
of my house, or else ” 

“ But I was sent for.” 

“ No one could send for you, no one has authority here 
but myself.” 

“ Your victim, then, has he no right to my assistance? 
no right to his freedom, of which in so fiendish a manner you 
will rob him ?” 

“Begone,” answered Ernest’s brother, “and quickly, too, 
or I will call my servants to turn you out like a dog.” 

The priest drew himself up to his full height, and answered 
with calm dignity — 


205 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 

Well !” said he, ‘‘do your worst, hut he assured that I 
am not to ho intimidated. This is a serious matter, Myn- 
heer, and in the name of the freedom of conscience which 
you so highly extol, and which you are now so grievously 
oppressing, I defy you to prevent my access to the dying 
man.” 

“ Enough,” interrupted the elder Van Dormael, furiously 
snatching a pistol from the wall, and pointing it at the priest’s 
head ; ‘ ^ out of my house, or I will send a hu^et through your 
hrain.” 

Morren had thrown himself between the two speakers, and 
dashed the fatal weapon aside, hut the free-thinker was heside 
himself. 

In vain did Victor’s father try to bring him to reason, in 
vain did his sister fall at his feet and implore his mercy ; he 
thrust them both aside. 

Meanwhile, the physician and his companion took the 
Priest by the arm, forced him out of the room, and closed 
the door behind him. 

“ Mynheer,” said they, “ we are witnesses of your pro- 
ceedings, and you will have to answer for them before a court 
of justice unless you leave this house without delay.” 

The poor Priest, hopeless of being able to do any good, 
descended the stairs with tears in his eyes. 

He had hardly reached the bottom when the door of the 
sick room was once more opened, and this time it was the 
brother of the miserable free-thinker himself, who rushed 
frantically down the stairs. 

“Horrible! horrible!” cried he. “My friends, he will 
murder me.” 

He was followed by his two companions, who, not knowing 
what had happened during their short absence from the sick 
18 


206 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


bed, thought he was light-headed, and tried to hold him 
back. 

“He is turned into a devil,’’ cried Ernest’s brother. 
“ Fly 1 fly ! he will tear us to pieces.” 

The room, indeed, was now a fearful scene. 

The free-thinker lay on the ground struggling to escape 
from the hands of his sister and Mynheer Morren. 

“ Let me go,” screamed he, “I will follow them. The 
monsters ! TJiey will deliver me over to the devil. Where 
are they ? I will tear every one of them to pieces ! They 
called in a priest to mock me — to laugh at my sufferings. 
Ah ! ah ! I am a free-thinker ; I will have no priests.” 

Poor miserable wretch ! His face was now covered with 
purple spots, his glassy eyes stared wildly out of his head, 
and a white foam stood upon his tight-pressed lips. 

“ Where are they ?” screeched he again, “the priests and 
the free-thinkers. I will make an end of them all together. 
Ha ! ha ! ” with a laugh that pierced through the hearers’ souls. 

‘ ‘ Ha ! ha ! the cowards ! Let them but once show them- 
selves, if they dare.” 

It was enough to make the hair stand on an end with hor- 
ror to witness this struggle between the sick man under his , 
terrible malady and the two who tried to calm him and bring 
him back to his bed. 

At last his strength was exhausted, and Morren succeeded ] 
in lifting him by force from the ground and laying him on 
his bed. 

Morren then placed himself with the sister close to the 
bedstead to prevent another escape. i 

It was not needed ; the free-thinker lay motionless and ex- 
hausted. 

A convulsive shudder, which now and then passed over 
his body, was the only movement still visible. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


207 


His mouth stood wide open, his cheeks were fearfully 
drawn in, his lips white as a sheet; his eyes glowed like 
fire ; his face changed from purple to black, from black 
again to purple. 

Morren, with his arms crossed on his breast, mournful and 
silent, kept his eyes fixed without a moment’s intermission 
upon the dying man. 

He saw death making rapid strides, and he would fain 
have given some comfort to the unhappy sufferer : but alas ! 
he found not in his heart a single word of consolation to soften 
the last conflict of his friend. He was forced to leave death, 
the terrible enemy of all evil doers, to deal alone, tremendous 
and irresistible, with his miserable victim. 

The philosopher was no longer conscious of what was pass- 
ing around him ; it seemed as if he himself lay outstretched 
there upon that bed of anguish wrestling with death, and 
with the power of a just and awful Judge ; his heart shrank 
painfully, and his chest seemed to pant for fresh air, as if he 
were in danger of suffocation. 

The free-thinker’s sister sat sobbing with her head against 
the pillow; she dared no longer look upon the ghastly sight 
of the brother’s face whose errors she had shared, and who 
was now teaching her how free-thinkers die. 

The sick man shuddered painfully. 

The philosopher stood plunged in mournful thought. 

The sister wrung her hands in despair. 

In a room below, the devil’s watchmen sought courage and 
strength in wine. 

No one prayed in that accursed house. 

So passed a few moments in anxious expectation, when at 
last the free-thinker drew a deep, rattling breath. 

His sister raised her head and looked at him with mournful 
anxiety ; his expression, less wild than before, seemed to 
signify that his consciousness was returning. 


208 - 


^IIE DOUBLE sacrifice; OR, 


‘‘ Ernest,^’ said she, ‘‘shall I call the priest hack 

“ The priest?’’ cried he, as if the word had excited all his 
fury, “ no, no ; away with him. Have I not told you he can 
do nothing for me ? that there is now no forgiveness for me ? 
that I am lost?” 

Morren tried to calm him. 

“ Ah 1 Morren,” said he, with a horrible laugh, “it is all 
over. This is the hour which your nephew foretold to me. 
Do you remember it now ? ‘ There will come an hour,’ said 

he, ‘ when you will believe ; an hour when you will call in 
despair for the help of a priest, and who knows whether God 
will then hear you.’ Yes, yes; that hour has come. I feel 
it in my heart. Here,” and he pressed his arms strongly one 
over the other ; “ here, it rages here, it burns in my inmost 
heart. There is already the fire of hell, which in a few 
moments will swallow me up ; for I feel it now, there is a 
hell, there is a God, Morren ; you do not believe it. Well, 
I tell you — 1. the free-thinker — there is a hell and there is a 
God.” 

He turned himself again in his bed, and the cold sweat of 
death stood upon his brow. 

Suddenly, as if some horrible vision were before him, he 
opened his eyes, and with a howl of terror stretched out both 
his arms. 

“ Look, look !” cried he, “ look yonder — there they are. 
I know you ; you come to murder me. One, two, three — Yan 
Dael, the old beggar woman, and Maso, and another still. 
Ah ! I know him, too, Victor Morren with Maso’s dagger in 
his breast, and I sharpened that dagger — I set Maso on to 
murder Victor. Ah ! the serpents, there you are ; come, 
then, fall upon me. Oh, they are trampling me to pieces,” 
and the miserable man stretched out both his arms and 
breathed painfully ; and there was a gurgling in his throat 
as if some heavy weight were pressing on his breast. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


209 


At that moment the door opened, and the watchers of hell 
again entered the room. 

The dying man fixed his fiaming eyes upon them. 

“ Woe, woe,” hurst from him in a stified voice; ‘‘there 
you are, devils from the bottomless pit, to carry me away.” 

As if to fly from his approaching doom, he sprang from 
his bed with the strength of frenzy and despair. 

It was over ; his body fell with a heavy sound upon the 
floor. The free-thinker was dead ! 

Mynheer Morren fled with all possible speed from the ac- 
cursed house. 

What a lesson for the proud philosopher 1 

“ See,” thus spoke a voice within his heart, “see whither 
erring reason leads. See how a free-thinker dies. See the 
fate which awaits you yourself, unless you return to the wor- 
ship and the faith of your youth.” 

“ But Ernest,” whispered the spirit of evil in his ear, 
“but Ernest was a bad man. Do not his despairing revela- 
tions show it ? Did he not declare in his delirium that he 
set the Italian upon Victor ? What wonder, then, if the voice 
of his conscience awoke at the hour of death and reproached 
him with his crimes? But an upright free-thinker, who 
has not acted against the dictates of reason, has nothing to 
fear.” 

“If death,” resumed the voice of the good spirit, “ puts 
an end to all, the testimony of conscience is but a mere chi- 
mera, frightening those who will escape all punishment ; but 
if, after this life, a righteous judgment awaits us, death must 
be as terrible to him who has denied and blasphemed the 
Judge as to him who has followed the dictates of his passions. ’’ 

Again there was a strife between the spirit of good and 
the spirit of evil for the possession of Morren’s hearti 
18* 


210 


THE DOUBLE SACKIEICE ; OR, 


These thoughts chased each other through his brain as he 
pursued his way home. 

The terrible picture of the free-thinker’s death was still 
before his eyes. 

The fiendish barbarity of Van Dormael’s brother and 
friends filled him with intense indignation ; the despairing 
death-struggle and terrible raving of the miserable man 
seemed to freeze the blood in his veins, and his ghastly 
corpse, deformed and blackened by death, seemed to haunt 
his shuddering sight. 

Meanwhile anxiety as to the fate of his son pierced his 
heart like afiaming sword. Had not Ernest spoken of Maso’s 
dagger piercing Victor’s breast ? Had the carbonaro indeed 
accomplished his revenge ? 

The unhappy father turned deadly pale, and durst not 
pursue the fearful thought. 

But when he reached his house another sorrowful scene 
awaited him. 

He had hardly set foot in the room when a cry escaped 
him ; his wife lay weeping in the arms of her sister and her 
niece. 

“What is this ?” cried he^ hastily. 

As her only answer, Mevrouw Morren gave him, with a 
trembling hand, a letter with the Roman post-mark. 

No sooner had the unhappy father cast a hasty glance on 
its contents than, with a piercing cry, he sank as if crushed 
upon a seat. 


tllE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


211 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

FOR TWO FATHERS. 

OOH morning, Nina.’’ 

“Good morning, Carlotta; where do you come 
from ?” 

These were two of the young girls with whom 
we made acquaintance at the fountain of Acqiia Paolo. 

“What do I see?” continued Nina, without giving her 
friend time to answer, “Your eyes are quite red, as if you 
had been crying.” 

“ Indeed,” answered Carlotta, “ and if you had been with 
me, I am sure you would have cried, too. I am just 
come from Nunziata’s house, where I have been to visit that 
dear sick Zouave. Oh ! Nina, he is an angel, so good, so 
gentle, so calm and she began weep to again ; “my heart 
is full when I think of him.” 

“ Is he no better since yesterday ?” 

“Better? oh! no, I fear that our Lord will very soon 
take him to Himself.” * 

“ Yet we had such good hopes of him when we went with 
Nunziata to pray to the Madonna di Sanf Agostino for his 
recovery. Oh ! how I felt for Nunziata’s sorrow when she 
said Our Lady’s Litany with so many tears, and how heartily 
we all answered ‘ Grazia, grazia ; you will give us this gra* 
zia, dear Mother.’ ” 

There is a touching custom among the women of the 
Trastevere, that, whenever any of their neighbors or friends 
fall sick, the young girls of the neighborhood assemble to- 
gether, and go to our Lady delVOrto, or of the Pantheon, or 
especially of S. Augustine, to pray for his recovery. The 
greater number of the pious petitioners prepare themselves 




212 


THE DOUBLE SACEIFICE ; OR, 


by confession for the work of charity, and go barefoot to the 
church. Then they kneel before the sacred image, and, if 
there is no great number of people in the church, one begins 
the Litany, to which the others answer in chorus, “ Grazia, 
Maria, Mother of God, grazia, let us not go away uncon- 
soled. You will give us this grace, will you not, dear 
Mother*^’’ 

“ I believe,” said Carlotta, in answer to her companion’s 
last words, ‘‘that our Lord indeed means to take him to 
Himself, for truly, Nina, I tell you he is an angel as sure as 
my name is Carlotta. You should see with what tender care 
Nunziata nurses him ; she could not do more for her own 
brother.” 

“ But how comes he to be so intimate with the Bianchi 
that they treat him like a child of the house ?” 

‘ ‘ E chi lo sa ? Stefano and Nunziata say nothing about 
it, and do you suppose I could ask them ? What are you 
thinking of? Mastro Toto, my father, taught me better 
manners ; and my mother, Sora Cecca, whom you knew so 
well (may she rest in peace), always said to me, ‘ Carlotta,’ 
said she, ‘do not interfere in other people’s business farther 
than they are willing to let you.’ But what I have to say is 
that this poor young man is, I think, the very same whom 
we saw pass the Acgiia Paolo with a strange Signor.” 

“Bah ! do you think that I remember anything about it?” 

“I remember it well,” answered the unwearied gossip, 
‘ ‘ and all the better because I saw Stefano come back with 
him and go into the church of San Pietro in MontorioP 

While the two Trasteverine were thus discoursing, Joseph 
and Martin, together with Stefano, came out of the house 
and walked down the street. 

“ Ah!” continued Carlotta, “I should not have forgotten 
to tell you that these are the sick Volunteer’s comrades, 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


213 


They are from Belgium, a country very far from this, as 
Nunziata has told me, and they keep so closely together 
that they never leave their companion by night or by day ; 
now they are going with Stefano to the railway to meet the 
poor young man’s parents. Unhappy father and mother ! 
how sad it must be for them to see their child die so far from 
home.” 

It was so, then. The sick man who was the subject of 
this long conversation was no other than Victor. The 
fatigue and difficulty of the journey, especially over the 
Appenines^ had thrown back the invalid, whose health was 
far from restored, into an illness which left little room for 
hope. 

The first day of the journey had been got through tolerably 
well, but Victor soon began to complain of unusual fatigue 
and of renewed pain in his wound. 

They rested more frequently, but all their precautions 
availed nothing, and they were obliged to go on, cost what 
it might. 

Martin’s broad shoulders were again in requisition, to Vic- 
tor’s grief, who, to spare his fatigue, represented himself to 
be far stronger than he was. 

He complained as little as possible of fatigue, but his knees 
failed beneath him, and he was obliged to lie down under 
the trees. 

As they approached the journey’s end his intense eagerness 
to reach it seemed to give him fresh strength. It seemed to 
be the desire of that noble heart to die upon the ground hal- 
lowed by the blood of the martyrs. 

But his illness increased daily. He frequently fainted 
from fatigue, and a hard, painful cough, accompanied with 
pains in his chest, now added to his sufferings. 

When he arrived at Home, a violent spitting of blood 


214 


THE DOUBLE SACEIFICE ; OB, 


came on, which seemed to take away the last hope of re- 
covery. 

At Victor’s earnest desire, they went at once to Stefano’s 
house, so eager was he to make known to him the hopeful 
end of the repentant carbonaro, and to give him his last fare- 
well message. 

It was just as they reached Bianchi’s house that the spit- 
ting of blood began, and, at Stefano’s earnest entreaty, his 
wounded friend remained in his house and under his care. 

That his state was dangerous was plainly to be seen. 

Therefore Joseph lost no time in making it known to their 
friends in Belgium. He wrote to his mother, begging her 
to break the sorrowful news with all possible gentleness to 
Victor’s parents. 

Mevrouw Van Dael had come in during Morren’s absence 
to fulfil her sad mission. 

‘‘ At last,” she said, “we have news of our children, but 
it is not very consoling.” 

“ Alas !” cried Mevrouw Morren, “our children are dead.” 

“On the contrary,” she answered, “they are at Home. 
Joseph has written to me.” 

“And Victor does not write. Bo you not see plainly that 
he is dead ?” 

“ Bear sister, I assure you he is alive.” 

“ The letter, the letter; I cannot believe it. I must see 
the letter.” 

Her sister was obliged to show it to her. 

“ Thy will be done,” she said, when she had finished it. 

It was the voice of Faith, but it did not silence the voice 
of the heart. The unhappy mother fell into her sister’s 
arms. 

In this state of overpowering sorrow her husband found 
her on his return. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


215 


What is to be done said he, hopelessly, when he began 
to recover himself from the terrible blow. 

“ To Eome was the answer of his wife, into whom the 
thought seemed to infuse fresh strength. “We will go to 
Rome at once. It shall never be said that our child died 
without his parents to watch by his bedside. Our Lord will 
preserve him till we get there, that he may die in his mother’s 
arms.” 

They were on their way early the next morning, having 
written to Joseph to give notice of the day on which they 
should reach Rome, 

The hope of seeing his parents, and embracing them for 
the last time, was a great consolation to Victor, and there 
was a brightness and calmness on his face which excited the 
wonder of his friends. 

The house from which the two Zouaves and Stefano came 
forth was distinguished from the surrounding houses of the 
poor inhabitants of the Trastevere by its appearance of order 
and neatness. 

For the Bianchi, although far poorer since their removal 
from Naples, belonged to the class which goes by the name of 
'paini, or, as we should say, burghers. They might have 
occupied a house in the better quarters of Rome, but the 
elder Bianchi had chosen to establish himself in the Traste- 
vere for the sake of greater retirement. 

In a room on the second floor, the curtains of which were 
closely drawn^ Nunziata sat by the bed of the dying Zouave. 
She had her prayer-book in her hand, and was praying fer- 
vently, while^ from time to time^ she raised her head and 
looked anxiously at the sufferer, to see if he needed any- 
thing. 

On a table near the bed stood a costly crucifix, a memorial 
of better days, and an image of the Immaculate Virgin. 


216 THE DOUBLE SACRIEICE ; OR, 

The portrait of Victor’s mother rested against the stand of the 
crucifix. At a movement of the invalid Nunziata had closed 
her book. 

Can I do anything for you, Victor ?” asked she, anx- 
iously. 

No,” answered he, with a smile, ‘‘unless you could look a 
little brighter. Nunziata, why are you always so melan- 
choly ?” 

“ Ah!” sighed she, “can you ask me? Do I not know 
what has brought you to this sad state ?” 

‘ ‘ Always the same fancies ! You must put this nonsense 
out of your head, unless you wish to make me unhappy.” 

The poor girl began to weep. 

“ Really, Nunziata, you give me pain.” 

“But, Victor,” sobbed she, “ how can my heart help 
bleeding whilst I see you suffer thus? Was it not my own 
brother who persecuted you to death with implacable hatred ? 
Was it not my brother’s hand which dealt you that mortal 
stroke ? Am I not to weep when I know that he, whom I 
loved most on earth, has thus persecuted and murdered an 
innocent man^ a defender of Grod’s Holy Church — when I i 
know that just after the commission of that dreadful crime 
he died, and went to appear before his inexorable Judge.” 

G-ennaro’s sister began once more to weep bitterly. 

Victor waited till she had become somewhat calmer. 

“Nunziata,” he then said, in a soothing voice, “your dis- 
tress is unreasonable. You speak of an inexorable Judge, 
but have I not told you how full of consolation were poor 
Gennaro’s last moments ? I have no fear for his soul ; he 
died full of penitence in my arms, and the mercy of the Lord 
is boundless. No, no, the God of Mercy did not bestow on 
him the grace of repentance in vain. Gennaro lives, and 
has already watched as a friend over my arrival here. You, 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


217 


Nunziata, see nothing in his death but the face of an inexora- 
ble Judge ! Will you thus, by your despair, deny the bound- 
less love of the Heart of Jesus 

Nunziata raised her head, which she had rested on her 
hands while he spoke, and a smile of hope and consolation, 
which gleamed amidst her tears, showed what relief Victor’s 
words had brought to her burthened heart. 

Ah ! ” continued the Zouave, “ your brother may have 
erred, he may have committed sins during his life-time, but 
his repentance in his last hour has washed them all away. 
Nunziata, if you had seen, as I did, the tears he wept over 
his guilty life, and his earnest petitions to Grod, to us all, 
and especially to you and to Stefano, for forgiveness, you 
could not harbor the slightest doubt of his salvation. No, 
no, Gennaro, the child of so many tears, of so many prayers, 
cannot be lost.” 

“Victor!” she said, with a thankful sigh, “you are far too 
good, you are truly an angel of God.” 

“You said so once before,” answered he, with a smile, 
“but I know too well how far it is from the truth. You 
will try to be brighter,” said he cheerfully. “ Do you think 
that sorrowful faces make me happy ?” 

She made no answer, and seemed to have sunk again into 
her melancholy. 

“What is the meaning of this?” said Victor. “It looks 
as if I had not gained much, after all.” 

Nunziata again burst into tears. 

“ I cannot forget,” cried she, “ that it was my brother.” 

“ But, Nunziata,” said Victor, interrupting her, “Gennaro 
was not the cause of my death.” 

“Who was the cause of it ?” asked she. 

“He was simply the instrument of God’s Providence. 
Was not my wound quite healed? Was it not rather the 
19 


218 


THE DOUBLE SACBIFICE ; OR, 


fatigue of the journey which, by God^s permission, threw 
me hack and brought me to extremity ? Whatever God 
orders is good, and for our good. Oh ! blessed Providence 
of God, it has given me for eternity a brother j for whose sal- 
vation I would gladly have offered my life. 

“We have not yet, I hope, come to the end of God’s 
goodness to us. Nunziata, you know for whom I have 
begged you to pray so earnestly. There is but one victory 
more to be gained, and then I shall depart rejoicing to my 
heavenly home. You weep over the decrees of the All- wise 
and the All-good, while I account the wound to be a precious 
gift which has brought so many blessings and so much hap- 
piness. Will you leave me to rejoice alone over the mercies 
of the Most High ? Nunziata, have I been mistaken, then, in 
your faith — in your piety 

Victor panted for breath, exhausted by his long conver- 
sation. 

“Well!^’ said Nunziata, rising, “I will try to be more 
cheerful in future. Who can resist your sweet, comforting 
words. But now,’’ she said, laughing, “I must begin to 
scold you and bid you be quiet, for you are hurting yourself 
by cheering others.” 

“ Ah!” answered he, with calm cheerfulness, “what mat- 
ters that? My time is but short upon earth.” 

“ Don’t say that,” answered she, “it makes us so sorrow- 
ful. Victor, by God’s help we shall cure you ; we shall 
pray, pray—” 

“I do not wish to recover,” interrupted he, “for God 
calls me to Himself. I only wish to embrace my parents once 
more, and they will soon be here.” 

At that moment a step was heard on the stairs, and soon 
afterwards the door of the room opened. 

It was Joseph, who came in gently to prepare the invalid 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


219 


for his parents’ arrival ; hut he had scarcely opened the door, 
when Victor cried — 

“Where are they? I want to see them. Oh! do not 
keep them longer away !” 

At the same moment they entered the room, 

“My Victor! my child !” hurst from the lips of both 
parents at once. 

“ Father! Mother !” said he in reply, and in a moment 
they were in each other’s arms. 

There was a long pause, while they tasted the unspeak- 
able joy of that meeting. 

There are moments in human life when the overpowering 
feelings of the heart make all outward expression impossible. 
Yet better and stronger far than all human words is then 
the voice of the heart, which needs no ear but the ear of the 
heart to receive and understand its utterances of love. 

“ I thank Thee, 0 Lord,” said Victor at last, “ that Thou 
hast granted me this comfort before my departure. Now 
shall I sleep in peace.” 

“ Oh ! my child ! my child !” cried his mother, “speak not 
thus. Our Lord will not take you away from our love. We 
shall cure you, Victor, and you will yet live to be the crown 
of my old age.” 

“No, mother,” answered he, “I shall not be cured. I 
feel that I shall not be cured. Our Lord will accept your 
offer and mine. You will be content, mother?” 

The poor woman could make no answer ; her anguish 
choked her utterance. 

She took her place by her son’s bedside, holding his hand 
close pressed in hers ; her arm supporting his head with a 
mother’s tender care. 

“ You, too, my good father, thanks, thanks, that you 
would not leave your poor child to die alone.” 


220 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, . 


Morren stood there before the sick bed, dark and mourn- 
ful, with his arms crossed upon his breast. He could no^ 
account to himself for what was passing within him. 

Throughout the journey he had struggled — struggled 
without intermission. He had reproached himself for allow- 
ing Victor to pursue his foolish determination, to perish so 
miserably in a foreign land. His agonized paternal affection 
had overpowered and swept away his anger. Now he burst 
into an agony of tears. 

‘‘'Victor! Victor 1” said he, in a stifled voice, “ should I 
reproach you, reproach you on your death-bed? No, oh! 
no,” continued he, falling once more on his son’s neck, “I 
will not embitter your last moments ; but alas ! I shall not 
long survive this blow. What comfort can remain for me 
when you are taken from me ?” 

“ The Great Comforter,” answered Victor, in a low and 
thrilling voice; “He who is the Support of the weak, the 
Hope of the hopeless ; He who never forsakes any one who 
trusts in Him. Oh, father, dear father, did you but know 
Him how light would this separation be ! — a separation with 
the assurance of an eternal reunion. Father, father, will 
you not turn to God?” 

Morren remained silent. 

“ Father, would you let your son die in the torturing fear 
of an eternal separation ?” 

“But, my child,” interrupted his mother, “you will not 
die. God has already wonderfully preserved you ; He can 
even yet restore you to health.” 

“ Mother, dearest mother,” answered Victor, calmly, “do , 
not suffer yourself to be deceived by the wishes of your love, | 
but rather prepare yourself calmly for the accomplishment 
of the Divine purpose to which I feel God has called me. My 
offering, mother, my offering.” 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


221 


Indeed, it seemed that Victor had spoken the truth, for 
from that moment he grew rapidly worse. The last coloring 
vanished from his cheek, his breathing became more difficult, 
and a terrible cough, which seemed to go through the hearts 
of the by-standers, shook his whole frame. The physician, 
who had been expected a few hours later, was sent for im- 
mediately. 

He shook his head at the first sight of the invalid, and 
examined him carefully, while Mynheer Morren and his wife 
watched every movement of his countenance with painful 
anxiety, fearing to read their fate in his face. 

At last he turned to Stefano and the two Zouaves. 

‘ ‘I greatly fear the rupture of a fresh blood-vessel to-night,” 
said he ; ^‘the administration of the last Sacraments must no 
longer be delayed.” 

“ Signor,” said Morren to the physician, “ you have given 
your sentence. All hope, then, is over?” 

“ It is very painful to me to be obliged to tell you the 
truth. I could not justify it to myself to hold out an ap- 
parent hope which must soon vanish. Your son may still 
live a few days, and^ were it not from the fear that he may be 
carried away by another spitting of blood, I should not so 
positively advise his receiving the last Sacraments.” 

Meanwhile, the physician’s opinion had been made known 
to Victor. He received the intelligence calmly and even 
joyfully. 

“Oh! assuredly,” said he, “I earnestly desire those 
blessed means of consolation and help, and I should have 
asked for them long ago, had it not been for a strange con- 
viction which led me to believe that I should live to see my 
dear parents.” 

Stefano left the house to summon the Priest, while Nun- 
ziata, with the assistance of Joseph and Martin, prepared 
19 * 


222 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 

everything in the room for the administration of the last Sac- 
raments. 

Morren stood silent and mournful at the foot of the bed, 
while his wife, with motherly care, smoothed the pillow and 
gently arranged the coverlet over her child. That heroic 
mother, who for a few moments had appeared to shrink from 
the anguish of approaching separation, had now recovered 
all her wonted courage and firmness. 

The irrevocable decree, spoken by the mouth of the phy- 
sician, instead of breaking her heart, seemed to have filled 
it with calm and heavenly peace. 

She had knelt for a moment before the crucifix to pray for 
the strength needful in this hour of anguish. She had seen 
her own picture placed by her pious son at the foot of the 
cross, and it reminded her of another Mother, who, when 
plunged in a sea of sorrows, stood at the foot of the tree of 
shame whereon her only Begotten and her God died for us 
miserable sinners. Sorrowful, but calm and resigned, she 
united her sacrifice with the sacrifice of Calvary. 

‘‘Mother,” asked Victor, in a scarcely audible voice, as 
she pressed kiss after kiss upon his forehead, “ Mother, are 
you content with the will of God ?” 

“Dearest child,” answered she, “ how can I but be con- 
tent when you are so resigned, so happy?” ' 

“ Mother,” said he again, “ will not God hear us? You 
know what I would say.” 

“Let us hope, Victor,” answered she. “Hope and pray.” 

“ Oh ! mother, how joyfully should I die if only one wish 
were fulfilled.” 

The Priest now entered the room. 

“Peace,” said he, “to this house.” 

“ And to all that dwell herein loas the server's answer. 

The Priest desired all to leave the room, that he might 
hear the last confession of the dying man. 


I 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 223 

It did not last long, and the already pure soul gleamed 
brighter still under the blessing of the Lord’s anointed. 

The Priest again opened the door, and in deep, silent recol- 
lection Victor’s friends knelt around the bed. 

Morren, almost unconsciously, had fallen upon his knees 
in a corner of the room. Not a single tear was visible on 
his agonizing face. He would fain have wept, he could not 
weep. His wife had resumed her place by her son’s pillow. 

After a short pause the Priest began the consoling words 
of the Church : 

“ Our help is in the name of the Lord. 

“ Who hath made Heaven and earth. 

“ The Lord be with you. 

And with thy spirit.'*^ 

“Let us pray. — Hear us, 0 holy Lord, Almighty Father, 
eternal God, and vouchsafe to send Thy holy Angels from 
Heaven, to guard, cherish, protect, visit, and defend all that 
are assembled in this house, through Christ our Lord. 

NUnziata, meanwhile, had laid a linen cloth of snowy 
whiteness over the sick bed, and while the server repeated 
the Oonjiteor the Priest prepared to give the Body of the 
Holy of Holies, the last Viaticum, to the poor sufferer. 

Victor’s eyes gleamed with new and heavenly light as the 
servant of the Lord held up the Lamb of God, the pledge of 
our redemption ; and with the deepest humility arose, from 
the bottom of his heart, the Domine non sum dignus, dee. 
Lordy I am not worthy that Thou shoiddst come under my 
roof, hut speak the loord only and my soul shall he healed. 

Then the Priest resumed : ‘ 

“Receive, brother, the Viaticum of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
that He may preserve thee from the malignant enemy and 
bring thee to life everlasting. Amend^ 


224 


TliE DOUBLE SACBIFICE ; OK, 


It was accomplished. The Heart of Jesus now heats upon 
the heart of His dying servant — incomprehensible moment 
which no pen can describe. 

A light of joy seemed to surround the dying man like an 
aureola. It was the foretaste of his coming beatitude. 

Then the Priest began the holy unction. 

“■Let there enter, 0 Lord Jesus Christ, into this house, 
at the entrance of our humility, everlasting felicity, divine 
prosperity, serene gladness, fruitful charity, perpetual health. 
Let the approach of devils flee from this place, let the Angels 
of peace be present therein, and let all malignant discord 
depart from this house. Magnify, 0 Lord, upon us Thy 
Holy Name, and bless our conversation; sanctify the entrance 
of our humility, who art holy and good, and abideth with 
the Father and the Holy Ghost for ever and ever. Amen. 

“Let us pray and beseech our Lord Jesus Christ that, 
blessing. He may bless this tabernacle, and all who dwell 
therein, and give unto them a good angel for a guardian, 
and make them serve Him that they may consider the won- 
derful things out of His law. May He avert from them all 
adverse powers, may He deliver them from all fear and from 
all disquiet, and vouchsafe to keep them in health in this 
tabernacle. Who, with the Father and the Holy Ghost, 
liveth and reigneth God for ever and ever. 

‘ ‘ Let us pray : 

“ Hear us, 0 Holy Lord, Almighty Father, Eternal God, 
and vouchsafe to send Thy holy Angel from Heaven to 
guard, cherish, protect, visit, and defend all that are assem- 
bled in this house, through Christ our Lord. Amen.” 

Then followed the mournful, yet unspeakably soothing, 
words of the Miserere, a strain of hope and comfort in the poor 
sufferer’s ear. 

“Have mercy upon me, 0 God; according to Thy great 
mercy. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


225 


‘ ‘ And according to the multitude of Thy tender mercies : 
blot out my iniquity. 

“ Wash me yet more from my iniquity : and cleanse me 
from my sin. 

“ For I acknowledge my iniquity : and my sin is always 
before me 

“Thou shalt sprinkle me with hyssop, and I shall be 
cleansed : Thou shalt wash me, and I shall be made whiter 
than snow. 

“ Thou shall make me hear of joy and gladness : and the 
bones that were humbled shall rejoice. 

“ Turn away Thy face from my sins: and blot out all my 
iniquities. 

‘ ‘ Create in me a clean heart, 0 God : and renew a right 
spirit within my bowels. 

“Cast me not away from Thy presence: and take not 
Thy Holy Spirit from me. 

“ Restore unto me the joy of Thy salvation : and strengthen 
me with a perfect spirit. 

“I will teach the unjust Thy ways : and the wicked shall 
be converted unto Thee.’’ .... 

Oh! how full of healing power are the consoling prayers 
of Holy Church. 

Morren had silently listened to them from his place, and 
they fell like soft drops of dew upon his hardened heart, till 
at last his long suppressed feeling found relief in a flood 
of tears. 

Had that heart-rending entreaty for pardon arisen for 
Victor, the guiltless one? No, far rather, thought he, for 
himself, for him, the sinner^ the guilty one, it implored 
forgiveness, for him it asked puriflcation of heart, for him a 
renewed spirit, for him the gift of the Spirit of God, to 
renovate and enlighten his proud, blind reason. 


226 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


Did not the last victorious sound heard, “ I will teach the 
unjust Thy ways,’’ befit the lips of his son ? 

Had not Victor taught him, from his death -bed, the 
unfathomable ways of God’s providence ? Had the Lord 
taken His child from him in order to recall the father by the 
voice of his son ? ‘ ‘ And the wicked shall be converted unto 

Thee.” 

There is still hope, then, even for the ungodly — for him 
who had set God at defiance. 

Yes, for now the pious response, as if in answer to his 
thoughts^ made answer — 

‘ ‘ The sacrifice of God is an afflicted spirit : a contrite and 
humble heart, 0 God, Thou wilt not despise.” 

It seemed as if a cloud had been rolled away from before 
his eyes. 

The holy prayers continued, but Morren heard not a single 
word more. 

The Priest began the holy unction, but Morren was 
unconscious. He no longer knew what was passing within 
him. He seemed to have lost all consciousness. 

He had buried his face in his hands, and big tears fell from 
between his fingers on the floor. 

Long — very long — did he remain in the same posture, and 
it was not till the Priest had left the room with the Most Holy 
that he raised his head and gazed, as if half-bewildered, at 
the bed of death. 

Then suddenly he sprang to his feet, fl^w to the bed, 
and fell powerless in the arms of his son. 

“Victor! dear Victor!” he cried, amid his sobs, “it is 
over ! You have conquered. I believe ! I believe ! My 
God ! I believe, as my son Victor believes ?” 

A second cry — a cry of victory — rang through the room, 
as Victor’s mother mingled her tears of joy with those of her 
converted husband and her dying child. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


227 


It was a sight which brought tears into the eyes of all who 
witnessed it. 

But Victor soon extricated himself from the arms of his 
parents. 

There was a heavenly joy upon his countenance. His eyes 
rested, for a moment, with inexpressible affection upon the 
father over whose errors he had mourned so long, upon the 
mother who had so nobly shared his sacrifice, and then they 
were raised triumphantly to Heaven. 

“ Lord,” he said, now dost Thou let Thy servant depart 
in peace, according to Thy Word, for mine eyes have seen 
Thy salvation. I thank Thee, 0 God of boundless mercy! 
Thou hast heard my prayer. Thou hast accepted my sacrifice. 
For now may I unfold the wonders of Thy goodness. I may 
now say that, before I left my fatherland, I offered my life for 
the defence of Thy Vicar, to obtain my father’s conversion. 
Mother,” continued he, turning to her, see now whether 
the voice of which I spoke to you that evening in the summer- 
house was not the Voice of God. • Oh, happy we! that we 
did not close our ears against it. Thanks to you, dear 
Joseph,” he continued, turning to his cousin; ‘‘ it was your 
I noble resolution to offer yourself for your mother that inspired 
me with the blessed thought which has won my dear father’s 
soul.” 

No sooner did Morren hear these words, which so suddenly 
revealed to him the secret of Victor’s determination, than 
he burst again into tears, as if borne down by the heroism of 
the filial love which, in his unbelief, he had not even 
suspected. 

“ Oh! Victor, Victor,” cried he, “ what love ! what love ! 
And I — woe is me ! wretch that I am ! — I called you an 
ungrateful child — a venomous snake, wounding the bosom 
^that had fostered it ; and that at the very moment when you 


228 


THE DOUBLE SACBIFICE ; OB, 


were about to sacrifice yourself for me. Ali, dear child,’’ 
continued he, falling on his knees before the sick-bed, ^*how 
deeply have I wronged you by doubting your love. Forgive 
me, Victor, forgive me ; but, oh ! my child, can you still 
love your miserable father ?” 

“Enough, enough,” interrupted Victor; “your words 
make my heart bleed. I have nothing to forgive. Was not 
your whole conduct dictated by love for your child? You 
ask me if I can still love that dear father whom I loved 
so deeply amid his errors — if I can love him now, when he is 
converted to Grod ? Father, mother, come to my heart, into 
which the Grod of goodness and love has but now descended, 
and there let the kiss of peace unite us all with Him.” 

And they forgot for a moment, in that fervent embrace, 
the anguish of approaching separation. 

Suddenly there was a loud noise in the street before the 
house. 

“ There is the Bambino d^Ara Cedi,'*’ cried a voice. 

At the end of the street, slowly approaching, was seen a 
large, brown, close carriage, over the door of which hung a 
red curtain. In it were two Friars Minor, one of whom wore 
a stole, and the other carried a lighted candle. 

It was the carriage of the Bambino of Ara Coeli (an image 
of the Infant Saviour), held in high veneration by the people 
of Kome, who greatly desire to be blessed by it at the hour of 
death. 

Victor, when he felt his end approaching, had earnestly 
besought the Priest from whom he received the last Sacra- 
ments to obtain for him a visit from the holy image. 

All the people in the street fell upon their knees. 

“ Oh, Santo Bambino, bless us.” 

“Grive us health.” 

“ Cure my child.” 

“ Multiply the fruits of the earth.” 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


229 


These, and a hundred other supplications, arose from these 
faithful Roman hearts. 

The carriage stopped before Stefano’s house, and the two 
Friars carried the holy image to the sick man’s chamber. 

A glance of joy lighted up his eyes as he saw the servants 
of the Lord enter, and he bent his head in earnest devotion 
for the blessing of the miraculous Bambino, while a prayer of 
thankful and triumphant love arose from the depth of his 
heart to the Throne of the Most High. 

One other blessing still awaited him — the Pontifical Bene- 
diction, sent by the Holy Father to his dying child. 

“ Mother,” said he, in a low voice, to her who knelt 
motionless by his side, “ now all is well. Now I shall soon 
say farewell. But, mother, dearest, will not — ” 

As if in confirmation of his words, a painful gurgling 
sound was heard in his throat. It was the moment anticipated 
by the physician. 

He breathed with difficulty, and every breath came with a 
rattle which seemed to rise higher and higher in his throat. 

At last a distressing cough was heard, and a fearful stream 
of blood issued from his mouth. 

! Morren sprang forward with a terrible cry, as if he would 
) shield his child from the approach of death, while his wife 
tenderly supported the dying head. 

The bystanders wept over their inability to help him. 

Poor Martin wrung his hands in anguish. 

“ My Grod/’ murmured he to himself, “ take me instead. 
I am good for nothing in this world. Poor Victor ! poor 
parents 1” 

Victor alone remained calm in the midst of his sufferings* 

‘^It is nothing,” said he, with a smile ; “ it is the release,’^ 

Meanwhile, night was slowly drawing on. 

Nunziata lighted a lamp, 

20 


230 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, 


All was silent in the room for a long time. 

The flow of blood seemed to have relieved the sick man, 
and he was now again lying quietly in his bed. His face 
was already pale as death, his cheeks had fallen in, a cold 
sweat stood upon his brow, and the coverlet was raised up 
and down by the painful efibrt of his breathing. 

His parents were kneeling by his bed, never turning their 
eyes for a moment from the face of their dying child. 

What a loving glance rested on those beloved faces ! It 
seemed to him as if he had never loved them as he loved 
them now ; and yet the thought of separation was not bitter 
to him. Did he not know that he was to say farewell to 
them but for a short time, to be reunited to them for ever 1 
Did he not know that even now he should be united to them, 
and should watch over them as their protector before the 
Throne of the Most High ? 

Oh, yes. There was a voice within him which assured 
him of it, and with unspeakable joy he burst forth again 
in that death-song of the Saints: 

Now dost Thou dismiss Thy servant, 0 Lord, in peace, according to 
Thy Word : 

For mine eyes have seen Thy salvation. 

And his eyes, beaming with heavenly light, turned once more 
upon his father. 

It was close upon midnight. 

Joseph and Martin, Stefano and Nunziata, were kneeling 
in prayer at the table. 

A Priest was watching by the sick-bed, to assist the 
sufferer in his last agony. 

The parents were still beside his pillow. 

The poor father was weeping hopelessly at the sight of the 
swift approach of death, while the heroic mother had re- 
covered all her strength at this moment of her bitter trial, 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


231 


She understood that the Lord called her to give up her 
child, and, with marvellous constancy, she wrestled down 
every feeling of nature to resign herself fully to the adorable 
will of Grod. 

Her eyes were dry, her aspect calm. An unwonted fire, 
even, seemed to light up her eyes. 

At last Victor made a slight movement. 

“ Do you suffer much, my child ?” asked she. 

Yes, mother,” was the quiet answer; “thank God, 
much.” 

Then, after a short pause — 

“ Do you think I shall suffer long ?” 

“ As God wills, dearest Victor,” answered the courageous 
mother. 

“ It is true,” said he. “ I will, 0 Lord, Thy will. Thy 
holy will. Do with me what Thou wilt, whatsoever Thou 
wilt.” 

He fervently kissed the crucifix which his mother held to 
his lips. 

“ What is to-morrow ?” asked he, after a few moments. 

“Saturday, my child.” 

“ That is well. I shall die on the day consecrated to my 
Immaculate Mother.” 

Morren burst into tears. 

“Victor, my child,” sobbed he, “ what do you say? You 
must not die !” 

The others had gathered round them. Tears fell from 
every eye. 

“You must not weep and be sorrowful,” said Victor, 
“ when I am so happy.” 

And, a moment afterwards, 

“ What happiness !” repeated he, “ what happiness ! God 
calls me to Himself.” 

Poor Morren was inconsolable, 


232 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE ; OR, 


‘^Father,” said Victor, in a sweet, angelic voice, “ why 
weep so hopelessly? You love me, surely ; and you wish for 
my happiness 

The broken-hearted father could make no answer. 

“ Father,” continued Victor, “ our separation will be very 
short — short and happy, father, for you will have a child 
in Heaven who has died in the cause of God.” 

Morren raised his head, and a smile played amidst his 
tears. He could now understand the language of Faith. 

Then Victor held out his hand, now growing cold in death, 
to his comrades in arms. 

“ Dearest Joseph,” said he, “ thanks for all your love, for 
all your care. Give my last greeting to your mother and to 
your sister. And you, brave Martin, who perilled your life 
to save mine, receive my thanks, and do not forget your 
friend.” 

Then he grasped Stefano’s hand. 

“ And you, dear friend,” he continued, in a voice which 
became more and more broken, “ you and your sister, with 
whom I have found a second home in a foreign land, I thank 
you, too, for all your kindness to a poor stranger. Farewell, 
farewell to all. I will not forget you in our heavenly home. 
And you. Father,” turning to the Priest, “I pray you 
remember me at the Altar of God.” 

“ My child,” answered the servant of God, greatly moved, 

do you remember me before His throne.” 

Then followed a few moments of deep stillness, broken only 
by the weeping of the sufferer's friends. 

The first hour of Saturday had hardly begun when the 
death-rattle was again heard. 

“ Mother,” murmured Victor, “ it will not last much 
longer.” 

Shall we pray, my child ?’^ 

Yes, mother,” was the answef< 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


233 


She herself began the prayers for the dying, in a voice 
which trembled not, but sounded firm and soothing in his 
dying ear. 

From time to time that heroic mother looked anxiously 
upon her child, and then with calm fortitude fulfilled her 
heart-rending office. 

Suddenly Victor stretched out his arm towards his mother. 
Another fearful rattle in the throat, another fearful stream 
from the mouth. 

‘‘Mother,” said he, “I am dying; I feel that I am 
dying.” 

“My child,” answered she, with an unfaltering voice, 
“the adorable will of our Lord be done. Let us say the Te 

And that song, the loftiest triumphant chant of victory, 
arose beside the death-bed of her only son from the lips of a 
mother.* 

While the song of victorious thanksgiving arose to heaven, 
the hand of the Priest was stretched forth to give the 
last blessing to the departing soul. 

“ Make them to he mimhered with Thy Saint sin glory ever- 
lasting T 

Victor suddenly interrupted the prayer. 

“ Father^ mother,” murmered he, while an angelic smile 
played on his lips, “ we shall meet again in the Lord — 
my God, I love thee ! Jesus ! Mary !” 

His soul had received His Lord’s kiss of peace, his body 
lay before them in the sleep of death. 

The brightness and the peace of Heaven rested upon the 
Martyr’s brow. 


♦A fact. See Olderieo. 
20 * 


234 


THE DOUBLE SACllIFICE ; Oil, 


On the following morning the converted philosopher, with 
his wife, drove np to the door of the Vatican. 

His heart yearned to pour its anguish into the fatherly 
hosom of the Vicar of Christ, and when he entered the 
Holy Father’s presence he fell weeping at his feet. 

“Holy Father,” he said, amidst his tears, as the Pope, 
deeply moved, gave him his hand to kiss, “ he has offered 
himself— he has died for his two fathers!''*. 



TIIK PONTIFICAL ZOUAVJ5S. 


235 


CHAPTER XIX. 

CONCLUSION. 

A.R readers, who have followed me to the end of 
these pages, allow me to thank you for your 
patience. My labor of love is now finished. 

But some one will, perhaps, say, “What has 
become of the other heroes of this story ? What has become 
of Victor’s parents, of Joseph, Martin, Stefano, and Nun- 
ziata 

Ah! this is a curiosity which shall be satisfied in a few 
words. 

Victor’s parents, who have now taken up their abode 
permanently at Schrambeek, are still suffering from the 
wound inflicted by the death of their beloved son ; but time 
is gradually healing the anguish of that wound ; their faces 
are calm and peaceful, for the voice of faith and hope, which 
speaks within their hearts, tells them that their child is happy, 
and is waiting for them in their heavenly home. 

For Morren, as well as his wife, now hears and under- 
stands that voice. The old philosopher bade farewell by the 
side of his son’s death -bed to all the errors of his proud 
and feeble reason. Before he left Rome he was fully 
reconciled with his God ; and the tears which he shed, before 
his departure, upon the grave of his beloved child, were the 
tears of a true and fervent Christian. On his return home 
the works of Voltaipe and his followers were committed to the 
flames. 

Now he is the chosen friend of the venerable pastor of 
Schrambeek, and the brothers of S. Vincent have chosen 
him unanimously to be their president. Who knows but in 
his new character he may furnish the material for another 
tale ? 



236 


THE DOUBLE SACllIFICE ; OR, 


Together with his excellent wife, he has become the 
temporal providence of all who suffer or sorrow at Schram- 
beek ; and the dwelling of the ci-devant free-thinker has 
become a refuge, whither they come for health and comfort ; 
and many a thankful heart in its prayer of gratitude daily 
invokes the blessing of God upon his roof. 

Joseph and Martin returned to Schrambeek with Victor’s 
-parents, and were received with great demonstration of honor 
and joy. Peerjan^ the old Picquet, of course, distinguishing 
himself in the foremost place in their reception. After long 
consideration how he could best testify his respect for Joseph, 
it occurred to him to present him with his cartridge-box^ a 
memorial of his campaigns under Napoleon. 

“ But, Peerjan,” said Joseph, modestly, “I do not 
deserve it.” 

“ That is to say,” was the answer of the grey-headed 
Napoleonist^ “ you do deserve it, and a great deal more ; and, 
moreover, I shall not live long to use it, and I know no 
one worthier of it than you.” 

Many years have passed since 1860, and in the meantime 
Joseph has married an excellent wife, who vies with him and 
his sister in making the life of the good widow, Van Dael, as 
happy as a summer’s day ; and Joseph’s mother seems to 
have grown young again now that she has a bright little boy 
playing around her, whom she is continually calling Joseph 
by mistake, though he was baptized Henry, after his grand- 
father. 

But I hear some one making an objection that he never 
has heard a word of this before. You marry your Joseph so 
suddenly, without even telling us the name of his wife, who 
never has once appeared in your £tory. 

Very true. It did not fall in my way to mention her ; and, 
in fact, Joseph himself, long after his return, knew as little 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


237 


of her as'you do. Do you think it takes a great many years 
to find a good, pious wife ? And you do not know her 
name ? What does that matter ? I have told you that he 
has married an excellent wife, and her name has nothing to 
do with the matter. 

But we must not forget Martin. 

A few months after his return his mother, old Teresa, 
died. She called her son to her death -bed, and thus addressed 
him : — 

“ My boy, you have done your duty. You saved Joseph’s 
life, and, if Victor Morren is dead, it is no fault of yours that 
he is not alive. But what I have to say to you is this, that 
as soon as you have laid me under ground you are to go back 
to Borne. The first time you went, not for the Pope alone, 
but also to discharge your old mother’s debt of gratitude. 
This time you must go for the Pope alone. I hope now that 
you will be able to find your way to Borne by yourself, 
without any one’s help. 

Martin has fulfilled his mother’s last command. Like 
a dutiful son, he prayed at her grave, and then returned to 
Italy to take his place in the ranks of the Zouaves. 

His first visit, on his return to Borne, was to Stefano, who 
was still inhabiting the house in the Trastevere which 
witnessed his fathers terrible end, but he dwells there now 
alone. His sister, whose piety became still more fervent 
after Victor’s blessed end, has left this evil world, which had 
been so full of bitterness to her, to dedicate the remainder of 
her life to God in a cloister. 

She has become an example to all her sisters of charity, 
humility, and self-devotion, and her fervent, unceasing 
prayers rise daily to Heaven for the soul of the unhappy 
brother, for whose eternal rest she has devoted herself. 

And so, in few words, I have told the reader all that 
he desired to know. 


288 


THE DOUBLE BACKIFICE ; OR, 


But your story is false, says another objector, for in 1860 
there was no one village in the Campine which numbered so 
many Zouaves as you have brought together. And then, 
Schramheeh ? Where did you find that name ? Nobody 
knows any place to which it can apply. 

Not so fast, respected critic. Are you so very sure 
that there was no village in the Campine which numbered 
two Zouaves among its children? Have I not a right to 
change the names of places in my tale, lest I should betray 
my heroes ? And because the names of places are changed 
must the events related be false ? 

Now, then, dear reader, I have come to the end of my 
story, which, as I have said already, has been to me, in its 
beginning, continuation, and end, a labor of love. 

Our age is an age of dross, of selfishness, and cowardice ; 
but, amidst all this dross, there gleams, thank God! many 
a pearl of innocence, of self-devotion, and of heroism. 

I have sought, according to my poor ability, to make 
one of those pearls (a pearl of priceless cost) better known to 
the world. 

Its spotless brightness had attracted my eye, and I wished 
to make it shine visibly in the eyes of others. We speak 
willingly of what we love. 

More skilful pens, more eloquent tongues, have celebrated 
it. What matters this? Do we prize our friends less when 
we hear that others prize them, too ? 

Noi no. My voice may be weak, but even my poor mouth 
shall speak your praise, shall proclaim your glory, champions 
of justice, champions of piety, champions of the Most High. 

When masterful robbers sought to efface the name of 
justice from the page of history, and to banish it from 
the legislature of nations, you sprang manfully to arms. 
When godless infidels assailed the foundation of the Faith, 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


239 


you surrounded the Eock of Peter with your brave hearts as 
with an iron wall. When the worms of earth dared to 
declare war against the God of Heaven, you gave your lives 
and your blood as martyrs for God. 

Eternal glory be to you, heroes and victims, in peace and 
in war. 

Your victor s crown is twined of laurel and of olive 1 

Great and glorious were you when your blood streamed 
over the heights of Castelfidardo. As great and glorious 
have we beheld you in the days of peace. 

A terrible sickness raged lately in Italy. Albano, espe- 
cially^ suffered fearfully from the plague ; but the Zouaves were 
there, and martyrs of charity were added to the martyrs of 
war. 

While the inhabitants left their nearest and dearest un- 
tended, and sought safety in flight, these brave young men 
laid aside their weapons, and hastened to the infected houses. 

Their magnanimous charity transformed them into sick 
nurses and grave-diggers. 

The heroism wherewith they faced the danger extorted an 
admiring homage from their adversaries.* 

Honor and glory, then, to you, 0 heroes of Christendom — 
honor and glory to you, even from the mouth of your 
enemies ! 

Many of you, it is true, fell victims to the pestilence ; but 
before His Yicar had blessed the survivors upon earth the 
Lord of Hosts had, doubtless, crowned the departed with ever- 
lasting blessedness in Heaven. \ 

Eest, then, rest sweetly and gloriously, you who fell on the 
battle-field or in the midst of your labor of love. The palm 
of victory is yours, and history shall speak your praise. 

You, too, who are still fighting the battles of the Lord 
against the hirelings and accomplices of hell, forward ! forward ! 


*See an article in the Twics newspaper. 


240 


TIIK DOUBLE SAClUFiCE ; Oil, 


Let mot your arms fall from your hand so long as the enemy 
is lurking round the rock of Peter. You are now alone.* 
Be it so. God’s help is but the nearer. 

“ Behold,” says the Prophet Isaias to the Jewish people, 
and so may it be said to you, Behold, the name of the 
Lord cometh from afar. His wrath burneth, and is heavy to 
bear ; His lips are filled with indignation, and his tongue as 
of a devouring fire. 

‘ ‘ His breath as a torrent overflowing even to the midst of 
the neck, to destroy the nation unto nothing, and the bridle 
of error that was in the jaws of the people.” 

Again : 

“ Like as the lion roareth, and the lion’s whelps upon his 
prey : and when a multitude of shepherds come against him, 
he will not fear at their voice, nor be afraid of their 
multitude : so shall the Lord of Hosts come down to fight 
upon Mount Sion, and upon the hill thereof.” 

Meanwhile, watch ; for the foe may seem to rest, but 
he slumbers not. Nay, his apparent repose is but the 
ominous mask of his secret designs, his persevering cabals ; 
and that very mask, as if the revolution no longer feared 
to bring to light the new monsters which it has been hatching 
in the dark, that mask he is slowly laying aside. 

Fresh cries of malediction and fury are rising from the 
abyss. 

The danger is still urgent. 

For seven long years and more the threatening clouds have 
hung over the horizon of the Church. 

The moment is, perhaps, at hand when they shall burst in 
their full fury. That moment will reveal the scourge of God 
— a scourge for guilty Europe. 


^Written ai the time when the French troops were withdrawn. 


THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. 


241 


Crushing and annihilating, perhaps, will he its force. 
Peoples and lands shall, perchance, he given to it for a prey. 
Kuins upon ruins, it may he, shall mark the hlack path of its 
blasting footsteps. They that shall live till then will see 
it. But amid the fragments of shattered thrones, amid 
the splinters of broken swords, amid the shreds of riven 
parchments, amid the ruins of overturned institutions — still 
shall the Bock of Peter rise firm and immovable, lofty 
and unshaken, and gleaming with ever brightening glory ; 
and upon the Bock shall the Vicar of Christ ever stand, calm 
and majestic as now ; and while his compassionate eye falls 
upon the bodies of his assailants, lying lifeless at his feet, he 
will raise his hand in benediction over the true children who 
have defended his throne, and from that same throne 
have received protection and strength. 

Then, as after a storm, shall the air be purified. 

Meanwhile, how great and glorious is the feeble old man, 
calm amid the threatening dangers ; bending, indeed, beneath 
the weight of years, but unbent by the might of his enemies. 
How great and glorious is he, as he stands there, erect, 
alone, and resting simply upon his right and upon his faith in 
God! 

Already the furious monsters are howling around him, 
grinding their teeth and stretching forth their claws to 
tear him to pieces. And he — • 

Calm and confident, he sends forth his summons to the 
whole Catholic world, and at a single word his children 
throng around him — hundreds of Bishops, thousands of 
Priests, tens of thousands of the faithful, hasten to Borne to 
proclaim the triumph of the Saints whom the Father of the 
Church has placed upon her altars. 

The monsters give way, furious yet impotent, and let the 
army of pilgrims pass, who have no other weapons but their 
faith and their confidence in God, 


242 


THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE. 


The joyful acclamations of S. Peter’s drown the curses of 
the synagogues of Satan. 

Already kingdoms are shaking, the principles of human 
policy give way, princes shudder, and .nations tremble, before 
the onward march of the revolution — and he — 

Calm and confident, he once more sends forth his summons 
to the whole Catholic world, and his simple word shall once 
more be heard and obeyed. The magnificent spectacle of a 
General Council shall once more bear witness to the enduring 
life of Christendom, shall once more solemnize the triumph 
of the Church. 

He, that wonderful Old Man, shall establish the peace of 
kingdoms and the principles of human civilization ; and the 
princes of the earth shall once more owe their might, and the 
peoples their peace and their bond of association, to the 
Fisherman of Galilee. 

Who is he, then, this glorious Old Man, who thus combines 
the most utter weakness with the mightiest strength ? 

Who is he ? 

The Founder of Christendom told us eighteen hundred 
years ago, and the walls of S. Peter’s but now, on the 
centenary of the Holy Apostle^ and at the canonization of the 
glorious Saints of Gorcum, re-echoed in heavenly accents His 
sacred words : 

“ Thou art Peter, and on this Pock will I build my Church, 
and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. Tu es 
Petrus, et hanc petrain jEdijicabo Ecclesiam meam, et 

portai inferi non prevalebunt adversiis eamP 


[the end.] 


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BEECHENBROOK; 

A 

OIF THIEi 


AND OTHER POEMS, 

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I. 



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Mission Book, The. 

A Manual of Instruction and Prayers, adapted to preserve the Fruits of the 
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A General Catechism of the 
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An Abridged Catechism of 

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Catechism of Perseverance. 

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A MANUAL OF ROMAN CHANT. Compiled from authentic sources, 
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